


Elua's Nightmare, Part II

by Jon_of_Narva



Series: Elua's Nightmare [2]
Category: Kushiel's Legacy - Jacqueline Carey
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-07 05:42:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 44,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3163373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jon_of_Narva/pseuds/Jon_of_Narva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>See Elua's Nightmare Part I first, or you will be lost here.<br/>Synopsis; As previously noted, this story is more of a journey into the minds of a couple of very unusual Characters, rather than the places and conflicts they cause. Phaing and her ship have been captured, and is questioned about her past and what her game is here....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 14

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Part II;**  
_**Phaing** _

 

 

 

 

 

 

**14**

 

Phedre gave us a stern look for allowing Phaing to get around us as Joscelin swept past and kicked the door open, holding it open with one hand and the other on a dagger handle with his body sideways and to one side of the opening. He need not have been so careful, Phaing was inside standing with her back to the next door. Her arms were out and up, palms braced on the frame as she waited for us.

“She seems remarkably resigned to her captivity.” I said to Imriel, trying to keep my voice low.

“Watch yer’ step.” Phaing wasn’t being sarcastic. There was a raised dam in the lower part of the doorway, and a step downwards, a tricky combination to navigate in low light. This room was as wide as the ship was broad, but only as deep as the _Alfa_ r woman was tall. To the right was a table surrounded on three sides of it by a bench built into the walls, what they called a _booth_. To our left was a small workbench and shelves of scrolls. “The crew will still have to come in and use these rooms. They eat at that booth and this here is the chartroom. Behind me is the closest you get to privacy on my ship. Oh, leave your boots here, under the benches.”

She pushed the door open and went in, turning up 3 lamps is glass cages at different corners of the room that was another step down… but, what kind of room?

Had we been somewhere in the court of the night-blooming flowers, it would have looked perfectly acceptable, but in a ship at sea it was too strange to credit. It was a pillow-pit, shaped like a long triangle. There was a floor-level section in the center and a broad bench surrounding it, all covered with pillows that were strapped in place or left loose and scattered about. None were very gaudy, and there were a few utilitarian blankets stowed overhead, but it still looked so perverse to me that I could not help smiling as I entered and looked around. There were no portholes, but there was a skylight to provide light and ventilation, and perhaps an interesting view for any crewman on the poop deck that wanted to look down on us. I did see a muslin screen, and putting it in place was the first thing I did after I walked in. I also noticed a closet at the very aft end of the room, near where Phaing was taking a seat. The place was big enough for a dozen people to bed down, half again as many more if they wanted to be intimate with each other.

“Okay, enough with the funny looks.” Phaing said with what I was coming to realize wasn’t hostility, so much as it was merely her ‘way’. “Yes, this is where the Captain’s Cabin would normally go, and the booth back there would be where the other 3 people who rate a bunk would be on a regular ship. All the rest of them would have to find a spot to hunker down in that damp Hold or up on deck. I didn’t like that, I want my crew rested and healthy. And having them where I can keep an eye on them is just a bonus. However, since _you_ are here, you and I have this place to ourselves now. So… get comfortable, we won’t be bothered until Dawn and Breakfast is ready. Supper is in the hour before Sunset, between those two meals you shift for yourself, I’ll show you how to do that in the morning when there is light to see. Turn the lamps down when you are done with them, oil is running low.” Phaing stood on a bench, just tall enough to allow her to turn the lamp at her end down.

We were not anywhere near ready to let her turn in, not yet. We all seemed to speak at once, but my question was the first she responded to. “Wait, what about your privacy? That door-“

“It’s just a closet, and not a very big one. Rest easy.” 

“You designed this ship, didn’t you?”

“Yes I did, Countess-“

“Please call me Phedre, if you would, and this whole thing is fascinating. May I call you Phaing?”

Phaing was motionless in the shadows, weighing Phedre’s words, and she decided to take the best possible interpretation of them; “Thank you, its nice to be appreciated, especially by one such as yourself. Yes, call me Phaing, just that… and I’ll be better in the morning, just need to shut my eyes after 2 days of carousing.” She sat up in the dim light and cast the shift aside and pulled a fur wrap around herself.

Joscelin leaned forward, Imriel cleared his throat and it must have been clear to Phaing that she was not getting off that easily. Phedre’s more kindly approach was getting better results, so I held my tongue while she moved to sit next to her and put one hand on Phaing’s knee. “I’m sorry you are so tired, but we are still a little too worked up to rest comfortably. We really have to find a way to understand this-“

Phaing cut her off sharply with a rush of strained words; “I’m _sorry_ , alright? Oh GODS I fucked this all up… the words don’t exist to tell you how sorry I am for all this! You should never have gotten involved, Godsdammit-all-to-hell you have been through too much already, _far_ too much. Now I only made everything this much worse!” She slammed her fist into the knee Phe'dre’s hand wasn’t covering. Phaing was shaking and drawing herself inward, trying to close doors that simply would not shut. I flinched, I think all of us but Phedre pulled back a little. This was real, the self-loathing in Phaing’s voice carried some serious venom, impossible to ignore. Her dark face went red as she ducked her head, teeth grinding and eyes shut tight. We weren’t prepared for that, only Phedre was ready to accept it and respond accordingly;

“We were lucky, and you were not prepared to counter the Dragon and dodge us at the same time, true? Relax, please, we didn’t give you much of a choice, did we? But the chase is over, and we have so many questions, so much is still hidden and now we need your help to understand what it is you are trying to shield us from. If you still want to help us, this is how you have to do it. Phaing?” She knelt on the ‘floor’ and shook Phaing’s knee gently. “Lets take it one little step at a time, just a little to start with. We are tired too, but the men would like to have a look in your closet. Can you…” Before Phedre could fully ask the question, Phaing reached over and put her hand on the lock without using a key, and it sprang open. She didn’t even look up, keeping her head down and her hands clenched in her lap. “… _thank_ you. Now, part of our problem is that we have no idea who, or even _what_ , you are. Can you tell us a little about yourself that would make sense to us? Such as, where are you from?”

“What am I?” She sighed and slumped back into the pillows. “Always the hardest questions first, eh?”

Joscelin opened the closet and began to rifle around in it. Imriel was right by his side. There was no room for him to help with searching the closet, but he could be there in case Phaing tried to jump one of us. I kept my distance, and I was struck by the indifference Phaing had regarding this violation of her inner sanctum. The only privacy she had left was being pawed at by a man she had crossed swords with and hissed at… well, by a _man_ , that should have meant something in itself. No matter what the circumstances, there should have been some reaction from her. Weapons, coin, odd bits of clothing were all laid out and looked over, but the only item that got any reaction from her was a smallish chest of red wood that was locked. All the while, she was speaking to Phedre, trying to tell us about herself in a way that would ‘make sense’ to us.

“Alright then. First of all, look up.” She began. “Or, rather, Imagine you are still on deck and can see the stars above you. Now, almost all of them are really Suns, like the one that lights up your world every day. Yes, they are, but they are so far away that they look tiny and dim to you. Most of those Stars have worlds of their own, some of them are like this one, your world. Even more, for every one you can see, there are millions more that are too far away for you to see at all. It’s a big, _big_ Universe out there, not nobody or nuthin’ can know the whole of it, so let’s skip past the vasty-boggling of it all and get to why I told you about that;  
“I’m not from your world, I’m from one of them out there, and I have seen a great many in my travels. Well, more than dozens, but not really hundreds of them. Hardly anyone that ever lived has to do that, traveling among worlds, but I have had to keep doing it for a long time now. Its dangerous and its very difficult… um…. Sorry, that is a lot to take in, isn’t it?”

What she had just said… the vistas of other worlds and the practical knowledge she seemed to have about the subject, it was so tremendous that we could have been lost in just that subject for ages, Phedre certainly seemed so inclined. However, I had the feeling that Phaing was already trying to avoid talking about herself. I had more than just a feeling, I was learning to 'read' her more quickly than Imriel or Phedre were. They knew a great deal about reading people... Human ones. I had less to unlearn than they did when it came to reading someone that wasn't Human. “Phaing, that’s what we around here call a diversion. I want to cover one subject at a time, gain a certain understanding, and then move on.” I moved across the room and sat at her side, opposite the one Phedre was on, wedging myself between Phaing and her closet. “So, let’s talk about you. I am thinking that you had an exceptionally difficult childhood-“

She flinched and immediately cut me off;  
“Aw Gods Damn it all to hell! So you _did_ see my foot while I was all helpless, didn’t you?” She hissed, not withdrawing from me physically, but flashing me a look that said she dreaded what was coming next. I would have gone to something else, or withdrawn the question somehow and tried a different tact, but Phaing saw Imriel and Joscelin looking at her with questioning eyes, and her defiant streak revealed itself to us. “This!” she snarled at them and raised her foot. What they saw was a slave-brand burned into the sole of her foot. That is a monstrous place to brand anyone, as those familiar with torture can tell you. Some experts swear by the Bastinado, a method by which the feet are beaten, with such effect that little else is needed to break the most reluctant captive. I’d never heard of anything like this kind of branding, but the worst thing was that the brand was twisted out of shape, as if that foot had been much smaller when that had been done to Phaing. As young as when Imriel had been branded, perhaps.

Joscelin shut the closet and sat down with a thump, face slack and eyes hooded. Imriel was already seated, he grimaced and showed his teeth, shifting uncomfortably next to what had been removed from the closet; a small pile of odd weapons and that red chest. Neither of them had anything to say.

  
Phaing looked angry ,and for one of the only times that I have ever seen; she was also shamed…I knew that any show of pity could be disastrous, even a non-verbal sort. I quickly reached over and eased her leg downwards, trying to make eye-contact. “I can’t speak to that, or anything else about you yet. All we know is that you are deadly, inventive, and something that I heard from an erstwhile Soldier of yours, who called you a _Dohk Alfar_.”

“Oh, how cute! _Brilliant_ …. 'dark' he says? Alright, alright, if you must know, that was Daddy’s side of the family.” Deep hatred colored her mention of her male progenitor's people. “I never met him, or even found out who he really was. He was part of a gang that kidnapped my mother and wound up rapping her until one of them got her pregnant. They relaxed their guard when her belly started to swell, she escaped, and when she got home her loving family took one look at the lump in her belly… at _me_ … and gave her a choice; abortion or exile.”

I’m afraid that _I_ was the one that gasped. _Alfar_ , Elf, long-lived, wise, spiritual beings with a love of life… that was the legend, those were the tales of Fairy and Magic I had grown up with. How very wrong they seemed to me now.

Phaing nodded and took my reaction in stride. “Yeah, Mom’s people were High Elfin, diametrically opposed to the Djrau, the Dark Elves. Something like me ain’t supposed to happen. Heh, I guess you could say I’ve been my own worst enemy since the day I was born. Ermm…. anyways, Mom was obviously stubborn and went her own way, ended up in a nasty old city called Fangore.” She had been meeting all our eyes in turn, measuring out reactions to her story, and she happened to be looking at Imriel at that moment. “Yes, I get my alias from there, Fangore means ‘the bane of Chaos’, so Phaing means Chaos, seemed appropriate after Mother was killed and I wound up on the streets. That place was the bane of my existence, but I had no way out, yet. Made a regular street-urchin for a while, until I got caught up in a Militia dredge-night. That’s something I’d have to be really drunk to tell you the full truth of, but they would try to clean up really bad neighborhoods once in a while. Human city and all, so they used the Army. I was lucky, captured still in good enough shape to be sold on the block, and I was purchased by a piece of shit called Malfaedor. He was a Mage, the real thing, me bought me to sacrifice me to a Demon Lord, but he found out that this one preferred little boys at the last minute. Oh man, I found out what a real beating was that night, let me tell you! But I survived and they had to find a use for me. A puny, hungry and ignorant Elf girl that hadn’t even hit puberty wasn’t good for much, so they had me take lessons of a different sort… what a pleasure slave of that place and era would have to know. They started young because, to be competitive, we girls had to be able to do things with our bodies, move in ways that just can’t be taught to women fully grown. And, as it turned out, Malfaedor’s tastes ran to younger girls anyway. He started in on me before I had even began to bleed…” She scanned us again, and shook her head at the looks she was getting in return.

It was too much, too fast, and in far too cold and clipped a fashion. I have heard Cooks giving a more impassioned description of the spices stored in the pantry. She was rolling right by so much so quickly, burying us with ghastly details that none of us could comment on. Phaing was also telling it so poorly, and I think that she was doing it deliberately, to teach us a lesson about prying into her personal past.

“Alright, let’s stop with the looks, it was all so long ago… but you can ask me to backtrack anytime. I’d not be telling this to anyone else, but like I said; I got you into something ugly here and I owe you the truth. Anything that can help you is open to you, my closet, my ship, anything, and so you may as well know what you are dealing with when it comes to _me_. Now…. Malfaedor was an artificer, he enchanted things, and he had apprentices that paid good money for tutoring, so he was very rich. I kept my eyes open, and I learned a few things. I’d learned how to fight on the streets to stay alive, in that house I learned how to discipline my mind enough to store a few arcane things. But, none of that was what got me out of there alive. You see, when I started to get curvy, I knew he was starting to loose interest in me, and that meant he’d kill me for fun soon, unless I got him first. And you know, I did!"

We allowed Phaing to spinout her story, as 'diverting' as it may have been, taking advantage of her willingness to tell it. This gave Imriel and Phedre a chance to learn how to 'read' Phaing. 

Such was my hope at the time.

“In that miserable place, they had a saying; Attacking an enemy’s weakness is for amateurs. A professional goes at the enemy’s strengths. Malfaedor wore an amulet called a Poison sniffer, his pride and joy, and thought it made him so safe. But the day I found out where the healing potion nearest his bed was hidden was the day I ended him. I served him his last glass of wine in a glass that was one of a set of identical ones, but this one had some tiny shards from another in the set that I had broken and ground up, real fine. He drank it down, the Poison Sniffer couldn’t tell broken glass from the rest of the glass. And later, when the pain hit him, he went for the potion that would have saved him. He’d guzzled it down before he realized I had already switched it for that acid we’d been using to clean the drains out. He was in too much of a hurry, too much pain, to pay attention to the warning his amulet was giving him. Ah, he died a hard death. The last thing he saw was me, sitting on his chest, breaking his fingers and punching his face as hard as I could, yelling at him; “ _Your going to hell,_ smack! _What’s it look like_? POW! _Tell them your slave sent you_ , CRACK!”

To say we were discomfited by her grim tale would be a classic understatement, yet Phaing seemed more relaxed now, not smiling, yet with a triumphant gleam in her exotic eyes that did not fade. “Well, moving on, I stole a few things on my way out, set a fire in the basement and left that rotten old city behind me. The first legitimate work I succeeded at was Bounty Hunting. That’s ironic, considering what is in that Chest you seem so interested in. I did well, its amazing how many men that can’t be found or defeated in a fair fight will put themselves in a dangerous place if they think a dinky little slut like me is all they have to worry about. Yes, I was a pretty horrible person for a while, just awful, but I’m happy to say that started to change while I was still young. I met some people who were even worse off, morally speaking, and it made me start thinking. Evil is so pathetic, when you really give it a hard look. I started saying to myself; _In a world as brutal and unjust as this one, being a good and kind person is the ultimate act of defiance_. . And… and I have said enough for now, yes? Looks like its time to go from telling to showing.”

All of us had been glancing at the red chest since she had mentioned it. She had noted that, and needed a break from talking about her grim past as badly as we needed one from hearing about it.

“I’ll show you what’s in there, but that will be all for tonight, agreed? You see, I have been here before. This world, this very Sea in fact. From about a decade and a half ago until about 9 years ago, and that box holds what I gathered when I missed my best chance to be helpful to you folks. There was this important fellow in Hellas who was upset with a certain cult. His niece had been spirited away before he could do a thing about it, an up and coming Physician with great promise, and he wanted revenge on the foreign Priests that stole her. Nobody was willing to chase after them, everyone was too afraid of the nasty-.”

“Drusilla?!” Phedre asked, thunderstruck. That was the very Chirugeon that had tended to her in that hellish place where they had found Imriel, I later learned. However, for the moment, I was ignorant of what who being spoken of.

“Yes, that was her name, I think. Her uncle wanted someone to hunt down and eliminate these pesky kidnappers. I took the job, and was successful.” The men were sitting just across the narrow part of the “V” that the benches made, so she only had to reach across to touch the chest. The lock was fake, she depressed 2 studs that looked like rivet heads on the lid, and the chest opened to reveal the contents; skulls. 8 of them, stacked neatly together. Most of them had some sort of shiny covering on the top of the skull.

I didn’t understand at first, but I was the only one that missed the significance of the collection.

“The Bone Priests!” Joscelin gasped, truly amazed.

“Yes, the ones that were aboard when you were making your incredible journey straight into the heart of that disgusting freak-show.” She glanced back and forth between Phedre and Joscelin. “I never imagined for a moment that you would go in there like that. No, well, we can talk about that later… still talking about _my_ story here, so… your timing was wonderful, by the way. Just as the Bone-Priests of Darsanja realized that they were being hunted, the ones that were left started traveling in pairs to catch me, and _that_ was when they lost their power to kill with their staves. A very lucky break for me. See, its under that one.”

Imriel alone among us had been touching the skulls, lifting a few free with a tight-lipped grimace. I did not begrudge him a look of harsh fascination, one of those skulls may have belonged to the very creature that sent him away to that ‘freak-show’, as Phaing called it. Under one of the skulls, he found the broken end of a staff, capped with a ball of Obsidian. “I heard stories, in Tiber. Is it true that you shoved the pointed ends of their staves up their backsides and broke them off inside them?”

Phaing rolled her eyes impatiently. “I only did that to a _couple_ of them. I took heads, had to leave something behind to prove who was laying there in the gutter.”

I don’t think that Joscelin or Phedra were believing what they were seeing until then. They did shrink back from the chest, and from Phaing, just a little. Joscelin asked; “How? Those people were terrifying, nobody would stand in their way, how _could_ you have killed them?”

“Differently each time, and not where anyone could see what I was doing, whenever possible. Mostly they were arrogant and complacent, but the first target was the one that killed one of my helpers. I had this big fella leading me around by fake chains, like I was his slave, passing right near the Bonehead so I could get close enough to whip my blade out and take his head. Well, I did, but my man was already dead. Seems the Bonehead liked the look of me and had decided to take me for his own, and transport to Darsanja no doubt. He made poor ol' Brunz a corpse and I never even saw it happen. After that I worked alone, with a Bow mostly, until the last 2 holed up in a tower up Ephesus way, and I had to hire 3 men to help me burn them out.” She thought a moment, and Imriel shut the grisly trophy chest and shoved it back into the closet. “Only the 8 of them, not many, considering how much fear and angst they were causing.”

“There were never that many of them, all told.” Joscelin nodded at her. “I think you did us more good than you know. In Drujan itself, they were sloppy, distracted, we got away with things that we might not have, otherwise. It was a close thing, and its likely your activities got back to their lair, and worried them. So _thank you_ , Phaing.”

She brightened at that, and then her eyes went distant, outside this time & place. “Its gone, you know. I went back there are few years later, just to make sure. The Magi tore that whole complex down, just the flooring is left. Most of the stone was used to make a breakwater, and the best of it went to making a pier for ships to dock at. They have a fine harbor now, but they took so much away that they had nothing left for a wind-break. You know, to keep that holy fire of theirs from being blow out in a storm. So they had to import some white marble, and put up a double-circle of triangular columns, the effect is striking. The light reflects from them, pink and orange at night that you can see from miles away when it is clear. I don’t know if that was the intention, but it works very well. Other than that, its just an empty plaza now. No gardens that grow very well, except this one square plot that I think must have been that indoor pool, filled with dirt now. Very quiet and….”

Phedre leaped at the bench where Imriel and Joscelin sat unmoving, lost in their own memories. She knelt on the bench they were sitting on, right between them, and hugged them both tight to her breast. They barely moved at all for a long, achingly silent moment. I wasn’t ready for that, but I understood it now, and I was going to allow them all the time they needed, in their own little world. At long last, a door on the past was being closed.

Able to see Phaing more as a person now, I reached out and took her hand. When she glanced at me, I whispered “ _thank you_ ” to her. I could not have put any real voice to those words, my throat felt as tight as the shared hug going on a few feet away from me. She smiled, Phaing had a very nice smile when that was all it was, and nodded for me to follow her. All she did was turn down the remaining lamps a little, and gather up some blankets. She showed me how to make a little nest to sleep in with the pillows, a handy thing to know. While it was just us at the far end of the room, I had one last question for her that night; “Cytheria… we are going there for the Wise Ape, aren’t we?”

She smiled again, and nodded. “Yes, my nemesis, I’m afraid we will need him badly, and very soon.”


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

 

 

Chapter 15

 

 

 

The next morning, we awoke to the smell of fresh-baked pastry.  
Waking in unfamiliar surroundings can give you a moment of panic, and the smell of something that simply does not belong in your new surroundings can make you jolt upright out of a sound sleep. Add to that the fact that Phaing was already gone from the room, and I was beside myself the moment I woke up. I was on my feet and looking around for her before I was fully awake.

We had returned to the corners of the room at the end where the door was, leaving Phaing to ‘nest’ near the closet. Carrying on with the pretense of keeping her under guard didn’t seem sensible anymore, not after last night, but it was still upsetting to see her gone. Daylight was coming from the skylight, filtered by the muslin, and there were glass rods I had not noticed before, set along the edges of the walls where they met the upper deck. They let some light to the chamber, and I could see that the closet had not been  shut. Phaing’s weapon belt remained in place where I had hung it, above where Imriel and I slept.

It was all too neat & tidy, her acceptance of her situation at our hands was too strange, but the smell of fresh bread was an almost welcome sign to my muzzy brain that she had betrayed us after all, slipping into a harbor somewhere on the Ephesian coast. It would have been devastating, but it would have made _sense_ to the rational part of my mind, the part that was reluctant to believe in that bizarre woman, or even in the notion that _Alfar_ could really exist in my world.

Then the ship lurched, and I was sent sprawling back on the bench, back into Imriel’s lap.

“We are still at sea!” I blurted out, and Phedre & Joscelin came awake.

“It would seem so.” The Queen’s Champion drawled. “is there some reason we should not be?”

“Smell that!” I said as I pulled my woolen tunic on, whipped a belt around it and threw the door open. Our breakfast awaited us on the table; A loaf of bread, half a dozen fluffy little things the size of my fist, something that looked like a soufflé’, and a little pot of marmalade. It was such a distraction I paused there for a moment, looking at all the things that had been left in place for us. The whole crew must have eaten already and let us sleep, but what of...

“AAIIYYhahAAAA!”  
...Phaing.

I pushed open the outer door just as the others were catching up with me, and nearly tripping over the dam across the doorstep. We were indeed at sea, no land in sight, and the bulk of the crew was on deck, laughing and having a fine old time, but I could see nothing of Phaing yet. Half a dozen of her crew were manipulating a long pole that had previously been folded against the main-mast. It was hinged at the base of that mast, swung out to the side now and held in place with ropes, and another rope dangled into the sea. Men were hauling on one end of the rope, and as they hauled on it, they fished Phaing from the ocean. It was her high-pitched hollering that I had heard, and as I approached she was plucked from the waves, the crane swung inward and she landed on the deck. She was caught by several other men, and all seemed to be in very high spirits.

It was not a rescue, or even a re-capture, she had been demonstrating an extreme method of bathing at sea. Phaing stepped out of a loop at the bottom of the rope she had been riding, soaked head to toe and her hair plastered to the back of her head and shoulders. She wore nothing but a bit of netting tied tight around her breasts, preventing them from being batted about during her plunges into the sea water rushing past the ship. Phaing had lathered up on deck using rude soap and salt water, and then washed and rinsed by being swung out like… like nothing I had ever seen before. Once back on deck and free of the helping hands that had caught her, she used one small bucket of fresh water to sluice away the salt water still clinging to her. It was an efficient solution, if a hair-raising one, to the problem of washing at sea. Tubs of water are notoriously unstable in a ship bucking the waves, and fresh water is always in too short a supply for bathing in any case. Bathing in salt water leaves a residue of salt that is irritating enough to make bathing counter-productive in the end. This method, ludicrous as it appeared, was effective, but suicidally dangerous to people who cannot swim, in my opinion.

Phaing had her back to us and did not see us approaching. She wrung her hair out and whipped the netting off, holding it out and asking “Who’s next?” with a challenging grin.

As it turned out, the part of her crew still with us had already had 2 days shore leave and had enjoyed a proper bath ashore. Our marines, on the other hand, were noticeably gamey under their light armor and brocaded uniforms. Jharroque himself stepped forward first, waving off the bit of netting until Phaing threw it at him and forced the marine to catch it. “Nay, I doubt I’ll be needing that.”

“Yes you will.” Phaing insisted. “Around your hips and around the dangling part of your anatomy, unless you want to risk your balls getting slapped around hard enough to make you forget about holding on to the rope. Either that, or maybe we can tie you to the ring.”

He was about to retort when he saw the four of us come up behind Phaing, and the look in his eye made her turn around. “Ah, there you are at last.” She said casually, reaching for a bit of Chamois and dabbing herself free of the moisture clinging to her. “Did you get enough for Breakfast? Ah…. Hmm, did you get anything to eat at _all_?”

My jaw worked, but I just could not decide what to let it say at that moment. Its one thing to be naked in a semi-private bath, or in one’s own chambers. But on a ship, surrounded by men in their working clothes… anyone in their right mind would discomfited somehow, or behaving in a way that is somehow contrived or requiring discipline.  Phaing faced us with the same forthright openness that she had shown the night before, and the same self-assurance that I had seen during that far-away encounter in Kyrnos. I started to understand her now; who that had been raised a slave would have any real understanding of shame, or even propriety? Her own, or that of others.

Imriel stepped up and did an admirable job of speaking to Phaing’s face, rather than the rest of what was on display on that sunny day. “We heard a scream and came up straight away. Your technique is interesting, to say the least.” Phaing smiled, this was the sort of compliment she appreciated, and then shook the water out of her ears. Imriel continued; “But now that you remind me, I’m very hungry, will you join us? I think your people left the best for us, and I am also perishing of curiosity…. you bake at sea?”

“Ah, right then, full tour coming up.” She used the Chamois to tie her hair back and pulled a robe around herself. “Let’s have at the chow before it goes cold.” And off she went, leading the way back inside, Phedre and Joscelin close behind. I was reluctant to let her out of my sight, yet Imriel and I had to clarify the new situation for our Marines. While we slept, they had come to an understanding; our Marines and Phaing’s crew had divided themselves in half, for the two shifts needed to keep the ship underway 24 hours a day.

“They are not a bad bunch of sailors.” Jharroque assured us. “ And, when at sea, mutiny and other shenanigans are not all that common, or intelligent. We work together to stay alive out here, and this ship is too small for secrets to be kept.”

“Do you really think so?” I could not keep a wry smile hidden as I asked Jharroque that, while glancing at Imriel.

“Aye…. It is my hope, Dauphine, that this ship will run smoothly for as long as you have need of it. As for what the _Dohk Alfar_ has in store for us, I have nothing to say about that.”

Glad that such a practical man had come into our service, I thanked him and told him to carry on. Imriel added that he should go ahead and take his turn at bathing, and let him know how it turned out. He and Joscelin had also missed their turn at a good wash in Rhodos.

Inside, we found that Phaing had seated herself at the bottom of the U-shaped bench with Phedre and Joscelin on one side, and once Imriel and I were seated, she was trapped there. If she was playing a game , it was a very odd one. “They are not big on butter in this part of the world,” she said as we entered, and slid a small bowl of olive oil our way. She had dunked a piece of bread in it. “And about the food, I’ll show you the Galley as soon as we are done here. The Countess was just asking about what sort of spells I know.”

“Yes,” Imriel quickly set a plate for me and for himself, and fixed a level stare at Phaing as he slid into the bench to put himself between her and myself. Of the four of us, he now seemed the least likely to favor her. “What sort of magic _do_ you posses, exactly?”

“Magic is just a word people use to describe something that they don’t understand, but by all means, keep using it to describe what I do, if you must.” Phaing returned his cool stare measure for measure. She was simply too combative by nature to do otherwise, so I pressed my knee to Imriel’s leg to ask him to hold back a little. Phaing continued; “I can do thaumaturgy, conjuration, abjuration, evocation, some alchemy and even a little necromancy, but that’s a headache, in the literal sense. However…it’s not very sophisticated stuff, I’m afraid. Practically all of it is combat-oriented. Crude stuff, really, for attacking enemies or for protecting my own self. Sad to say, I didn’t start to branch out into more esoteric disciplines until late in life, so outside the battlefield I don’t have much to offer.” I sensed another swamp of details coming, and would have left the subject alone if it were up to me.

“But you do know how to travel between worlds. Surely, that is something special.” Joscelin said while filling our mugs with water.

“Oh sure. That was the ultimate of elite clubs to be in where I came from, to be a world-walker. A proud moment indeed when I mastered that set of spells… but, it is dangerous, striking out like that towards a new place, and moreover; it takes me a considerable amount of time and effort. Zipping through the overworld at the speed of thought is one thing, but landing in the place you intended is no mean trick. It takes hours, or even days of preparation. You also can’t just _find_ a new place, you have to know something about it ahead of time, and you get lost or just fly to pieces maybe.” I was about to ask how she had found out about our world…. _our world_ , already adjusting to the notion that ours was just one of many… but she added; “Merrin does not do it like that, he does not do spells at all. He’s a mentalist, a mind-mage, psychic. He can do all that in minutes, or less, and he does not have to coax natural energies or beg help from spirits or hope for the good will of any Gods. His power all comes from within.”

I nodded, “Yes, I’d certainly be interested to hear about him, but I’m not sure I’m done hearing about _you_ yet, Phaing. For instance, do you have a title, something we can call you besides an alias that means chaos?”

“No!” She shook her head hard enough to fling a damp strand of hair across her face. “I haven’t earned any titles here, and Chaos is about all I’ve given you so far. No, that’s all I have for you, I don’t rate anything else so why bother? And what about you, Princess? Can I call you Sid for short? Yeah, didn’t think so… Prince Imriel, if you are trying to ‘read’ me, give it up. I may look mostly human, but I’m different enough to confuse the hell out of you at that level, its only going to trip you up.”

“You are more than confusing enough, Phaing. That’s why, despite your obvious reluctant to talk about yourself, we need more from you.” She pulled that hair out of her face as I spoke, and she nodded for me to go on as I thought about what to say next. “Explaining your childhood was a good start, it certainly explains a lot-“

She snapped an impatient gesture at me with her hand. “Never mind all that, I got over that garbage ages ago.”

We all exchanged looks, Imriel; even bit his cheek. Phaing deigned not to notice, reaching for the marmalade and the last of the little pastries. I continued; “Nevertheless, what do you mean by ‘ages’? Indelicate as it may be, I have to ask; how old are you?”

“I lost track at 451. That could not have been half a century ago, so not half a thousand yet. And no, that’s not so long for my kind.”

Joscelin slapped the table, and his grin was a bit savage for a moment. “Ah…excuse me, but now I don’t feel so bad about nearly being bested by you. Not by anyone that has been guarding her game for as long as you have! Now, I have to wonder just how much you _were_ holding back. ”

Phaing blinked at him, and then smiled as she spoke round a mouthful of food. “Forthright to the end, eh? Yea fucking gods what a man! Phedre, if I thought I had a chance in Hell, I’d be doing everything in my power to steal him away from you.” And just when I thought that an impenetrable barrier was about to be flung up between them by her careless words, Phaing leaned back and sighed. “But I _don’t_ stand a chance, do I? You two are every bit as inseparable as the Royals here.”

His foster-parents may have been bemused for the moment, but Imriel was determined to keep the conversation going in a certain direction. “The way you say ‘Royals’ makes me think you don’t like us very much. Perhaps not us so much as our station in life… and that makes your earlier statements about how fond you are of us look… questionable.”

If he had meant to fire her up, Imriel’s words had the opposite result. Phaing just slumped further back and closed her eyes. “Nah, sorry, it just means that some pretty dumb-ass shit comes out of my mouth. You all are so _unusual_ , its why I’m here. You folks have earned all you have and then some, and for some reason you Courcels have not degenerated into fops or tyrants the way other Monarchies tend to in less than a handful generations. _You_ people got it right, I suspect your gods had a hand in that, but I really wish that your Gods had some method of helping you that didn’t involve using you people like an old pair of shoes.” She didn’t move, but her eyes flashed open and met ours with sharp defiance. “Don’t deny it, not to me, I’ve seen and heard too much about things that have happened to you, things you have had to do and the risks you have taken. The prices paid… it’s a wonderment to me that you still smile as beautifully as you do.”

“I assure you, our happiness is not only genuine but–“

Again, the infuriating little _Alfar_ cut me off. “That’s not what I am talking about! Being happy is the easiest thing in the world; all you have to do is put your Common Sense ahead of your Pride.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Phedre’s jaw drop, but Phaing kept right on going. “I wasn’t kidding when I said you have suffered enough. I personally won’t stand for any more evil crap being heaped on your shoulders, and your Gods aren’t responsible for this latest burden, _I am_!” She abruptly leaned forward and put her fists to either side of her head, muttering to herself in some language that none of us could place.

I had to say something; “Is it the fact that we are human, that makes it so difficult for you to speak with us? To relate to us, after… what was done to you?”

She gasped out a short, sharp laugh. It was not an insulting laugh, and she looked up at me with something like love in her eyes. She could not reach my hand, so she took Imriel and Joscelin in a light grip with each of her own hands. “Is that what you think? Oh no dears, not ever. I’ve married more than one of your race, had children with them. I have fought side by side with Humanity over and over again. I favor your kind over my own benighted races in more ways than not. No, I’m here because you have built something unique and beautiful here. I thought I could help him…. _bah_! There I go again, off on a tangent. Are you done with Breakfast? Good, then let’s stay on track and let me show you the rest of this little ship of mine. First, let me show you a way to relive yourselves without using the Jakes that so disturbed you last night.”

Phaing put what had just passed between us on the back-burner, so to speak. Not forgotten, but begging for a reprieve. After just a few heartbeats of hesitation, I nodded and slid free of the booth. The rest followed, and Phaing indicated that we should go back to the pillow room. She tossed a few pillows aside, flipped up a board and showed us where a round hole had been cut in the outer hull. “You might get a tickle from the spray, and never open this hole in rough weather. When it gets rough, well, you’ll see when we move on with the tour.” She hung a blanket from hooks in just the right place to give the user a little privacy, and then left the room. We had a chance to speak among ourselves while we took turns on the Privy.

“She’s still not lying?” I asked Imriel right off.

“No, that much I’m confident of. She did catch me trying to see into the read her, and it was… chilling. I could not make out much, but what I did see…”

“Yes?”

“It was as if there was nothing but a webwork of scar tissue left of her, and beyond, a pit of black despair waiting to consume her. Whatever is going on here, we may need a few days to absorb it before we reach Cytheria.”

“I agree.” Phedre was the first one done with the privy, and she nodded to me to take the next turn. I shook my head and waved to Joscelin, who did not argue. Phedre continued; “I suspect that she is using her reluctance to speak about herself to mask a greater reluctance to speak of Merrin. She is fond of us, but she is playing for time. Phaing is trying to figure out what she can share with us, how to break the news that is eating away at her last nerves. She is playing a little game with her own story for our benefit… as she sees things.”

“Hrolvath was exactly right, she uses the truth the way other people would use lies.” I glanced at the door, it sounded as if the table was being cleared. “That Skaldi fellow is going to make someone a fine retainer. I wish he was here now.”

“Not I.” Imriel groused. “It would only complicate things for an _Alfar_ with a horrendous self-image and an overdeveloped sense of protectiveness.”

I put my hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “I’d like to know just what gives her the idea that we are some sort of delicate creatures, in need of being shielded from what is going on right on our own doorstep!”

“What?” Imriel asked, and I turned to see he has asked that of Phedre, who was biting her lip and looking away. “All knowledge is worth having, yes?”

She said nothing for a moment, and was still thinking when Joscelin emerged and hugged her from behind. “Phaing does not seem to think so, and she is half a millennium old, five centuries! Am I the only one that is feeling a certain amount of trepidation here?”

That was the same word she has used earlier, to describe the feeling she thought she had felt via her connection to the Gods. I didn’t think much of it at the time, that ‘connection’ being rather tenuous and ephemeral, as I understood it. That had been weeks ago, before I had met people who swore that a Dragon was real, before I had been confronted with the existence of a living, breathing _Alfar_.

I could feel everyone, including myself, pull back a little, from the mystery ahead of us.

Oh no, that would not do. “As I see it, we have a choice; we can hide behind the skirts of this barbaric little half-breed _Alfar_ that is determined to shoulder our burdens for us, or we can be who we are and do what we do best. I for one don’t intend to be a bystander in this.” And I marched off to take my turn at the privy.

When I was alone, as alone as anyone could be in that chamber, I did have second thoughts, at least when it came to pursuing dark secrets. It would take a nearly a week to get to where we were going, time enough to talk any problems out. And when we arrived there-

I gasped, and they heard it, turning to face me as I emerged from behind the blanket. The stricken look in my eyes was directed at Phedre. “I’m so sorry!” I blurted out, “I wasn’t thinking, what with my wish to meet Imriel’s birth-mother, but Gods, what about You! Coming face to face with Melisandre, its going to be so….. awful?”

May the Gods bless them forever, the three of them never made me feel out of place, like a lesser member of their little grouping. But when they favored each other with half-smiles and knowing glances, they came close. Imriel stepped right up to embrace me and dropped that annoying smile. “What will be, will be. Frightening, to us all, perhaps, but nothing unnatural or evil can come of it. And if there is a spare moment where such indulgences could even happen, I’d be surprised. What, with a city-destroying Dragon to be dealt with, I doubt that certain things will even come up. Certainly not the way anyone on Cytheria will expect.”

I could see Phedre and Joscelin over his shoulder. While they seemed proud of his acceptance that situation, and his wise-sounding words, I could see a good deal of doubt as well. So tormented by Phedre's affliction were they, that they had avoided having children of their own.

What was I pushing them all into?


	3. 16

 

 

 

16

 

  
  
When we came out Phaing was putting the last of the tableware on a small platform that had risen through the ladder well. I had assumed that was all it was, but here was this odd little contraption; a tray with a wall 3 inches high around it’s edges, mounted on small wheels that ran along the runners of the ladder and a doubled rope to guide it. Phaing smiled at us with the air of someone that is happy to have a chance to show off her own creativity. “Ah, perfect timing!” She said to us, and then called down the ladder well; “Take it down!”  
  
From below, someone pulled on the rope and the platform trundled down. “Its called a dumbwaiter in some places, its how the galley connects with the mess table here. C’mon, we’ll start down below.” She followed the platform by climbing down the rungs of the ladder. The tunic I was wearing fell nearly to my knees, but as I climbed down after her, I was wishing I had put those itchy, scratchy trousers back on. Sure enough, when I reached the lower deck, Phaing touched my shoulder and whispered conspiratorially; “This afternoon we’re going to raid my closet again, and this time we are going to get you and Phedre set up a little better.”  
  
Teeth tight together, I nodded and looked around. Aft, under where the sleeping chamber was, there was a deep & narrow store room, not for cargo but for things needed to keep the ship maintained. Towards the front of the ship and to the right, the mystery of baking at sea was solved. A gimbals-ring as big around as Jocelyn was tall was securely mounted to the deck and ceiling. Gimbal rings are actually a set of rings, and the inner ring had its axis running fore-and-aft, and supported a firebox and an oven above it. The problem with cooking at sea is how a ship moves, and the danger that fire presents. On most ships, there is a small bricked-in chamber (and this ship had one of those as well) that is good for little besides heating a kettle. This contraption would stay upright even if the ship turned completely over and the righted itself. A young man had been scrubbing the dishes in a steamy kettle, and he paused to gape at us.

  
“Its alright Akos, carry on.” She said that twice, once in our language and once in Illyrian. Akos nodded and re-doubled his effort to make the tableware shine, as if this was a tour of inspection.  
  
“Very interesting.” Phedre smile at the stove, which made Phaing smile in return. “An idea of your own?”  
  
“Yes, it’s the one thing on this ship that I didn’t borrow from something else I had seen somewhere. On long trips, you’d end up with rock-hard biscuits cooked ashore, full of worms after a while, and people get sick and lethargic from stale food anyway. And, why lug all that pre-cooked stuff around when it takes up so much space?” She showed us to an overhead bin a yard square, hanging from bolts in the deck overhead. It’s bottom was funnel-shaped, with a wheel around the opening. She rapped the metal bin. “The box is iron, rats can chew through lead or tin. Its filled with wheat-berries, they stay good for years.” She put one hand under the bottom and turned the wheel. Something inside ground the Wheat and dropped a small pile of fresh flour into her hand. “Better for the crew, and saves storage space, but I’m afraid the oven itself takes up about 10% of our cargo space. Cuts us down to 45 tons burthen, but I reckon its worth it. I use the trade we do to defray the cost of … well, this ship is my personal transport, basically.”  
  
“Is that how you come about your command of languages, traveling about the Southern Sea?” Phedre was naturally curious about that.  
  
Phaing winced. “No, I’m terrible at languages. I only know 5, and only 2 of those very well.” She held up her hands, showing her rings. “I need you to keep this secret for me, alright? If I lost these, I’m going to be a little helpless. This ring here,” she indicated one made of a silvery metal, “allows me to understand languages and speak them, even ones I never heard of. Yeah, I cheat, but a world-walker can’t get by without something like that. This other one,” she held up a finger banded by something made of braided Copper strands, not a very expensive or stylish ring, “heals me up. Not quickly, but very completely. See?” She pulled back the sleeve of the robe and showed us where my dagger had hit home. I wasn’t expecting to see much of a scar, but there was nothing to show her skin had been cut at all. “I bet you were wondering how an old soldier like me could be so free of scars. Malfeador tested this on me, so you could say I earned it, yes?”  
  
“You kept something made by _him_?”  
  
“Its saved me more than once, and this one too.” She pointed out a ring of Brass covered with runes in Onyx. It looked more like a man’s ring. “This one makes me a little harder to hit, without the bother of wearing armor.”  
  
“And that last one?” I asked. It was a complex filigree set with a lovely little pearl that caught the light with tiny pink rainbows.  
  
Phaing looked at it, stroking the pearl with one fingertip, and then ducked her head to kiss the delicate little thing. Keeping her head down, she glared at us through her eyebrows, and spoke quietly through her knuckles. “I ask you a boon. Never make me talk about family, people I have known, any of it. Unless I volunteer it, don’t even ask, don’t look at me like you want to know. Are we agreed on this?”  
  
The last thing I wanted to hear about was more of her personal tragedies. I let it show and Phaing relaxed. Phedre added; “Yes, of course. Only what is relevant to the situation we face… but you will have to tell us about _that_. That which is relevant to Merrin, that you cannot deny us, can you?”  
  
“Of course not. Let’s continue.” There was only a partial wall separating the galley from the hold. This chamber was half-filled with various goods. There were also half a dozen men sleeping here, from both crews. Our Marines were snoring on a pile of soft-looking goods, fabric perhaps, that had a tarp thrown over it. Her sailors lay in slings large enough to hold a person, called hammocks. They didn’t look very elaborate, but they could hang independent of the ship’s rocking motion. I found myself wondering if one could be made large enough to sleep a pair of bodies. It didn’t look so bad, but it wasn’t a way I would like to spend a few months at sea. Phaing’s alternative with the pillow room didn’t seem so strange now, but it still wasn’t a way to sleep that I could have become used to. A lifetime of having a bedchamber to myself had left its mark on my habits.  
  
I didn’t permit myself to speculate on what sort of habits I could let go of, after 500 years of life.  
  
“You have had horses here.” Imriel nodded to a part of the hold that been roped off, slings were still on place, and the various smells left by horses were still evident. “Two of them?”  
  
Phaing shot him a sour look. “Yeah, one was killed by your Hunters, and the other is still probably in the stables of that Inn you spirited me away from. A Kardabian Mountain horse… you never even heard of those, have you? Forget it, and doan’ offer to replace ‘em. Yer’ spindly Tsingano palfrey couldn’a hold a candle to ‘em.”  
  
It was the first display of anger she had shown about her treatment at our hands since I’d had her pulled out of that gunny sack. I could tell she was truly upset, her accent shifted from that pleasant drawl to a harsh, urban chop. I was very glad to see that she was already moving away from us, it might have been awkward if she had seen the little grin that I felt my lips forming. Imriel saw, and he flashed me one in return. If everything went as it should, Phaing would be seeing her horse again, much sooner than she imagined.  
  
Phaing lead the way back up a steep staircase and out an open hatch that brought us up to the bow near the foremast. That mast was straight up and down, rather than canted back like the rest, and she pointed up. “This kind of rig won’t allow for much of a Crow’s nest, but if you ever feel daring…”

  
We all looked up, and could barely make out an iron hoop near the top, and a platform not much larger than a pair of feet. I felt ill just looking at it. “Oh, its not that bad, got a leather strap up there that you belt yourself into… but still not a fun place to be. For normal running, we have someone go up for 5 minutes every half hour. Longest I’d let anyone stay is an hour. That’s why the blue sails, gives us a little head-start on who spots who.”  
  
“What’s the record for staying up there?” Imriel asked with an impish grin.

  
Phaing pretended she had not heard him and turned away to wave some crewmen over. “Feri!” She called out to her 2nd mate, and she waved to Jharroque as well, looking much refreshed after his dip in the ocean. “Please remove the tarp, the bosses here would like to have a look at our Ballistae, I’m thinking. Yes?” She looked back at us, face neutral and free of any more rancor about her lost horses.

Phedre took advantage of that and stepped up to Phaing’s side as the men revealed the heaviest weapon on the ship. “Feri?” she asked, in a voice that would not carry.  
  
“Hm?” Phaing didn’t understand the question for a moment, and then remembered who she was talking to. “Oh, that’s short for Ferenc, which is the Chowatti equivalent of Francis, I think.”  
  
“Ah, thank you.”  
  
I had seen Ballistae before, our own ship had several. They are simply an oversize crossbow, in the basic shape and purpose of the thing. They fire a Bolt as long as a Javelin, but much stouter and far more deadly to anyone unfortunate enough to be hit by one. This one, while the same size as our own, put what we had to shame.  
  
It had a yoke at the back end so that one man could brace it with his shoulder and swing it around for fast aiming, it must have been well-balanced for one man to be able to do that. There were two small hoops, one at each end of the tray where the bolts would go, to help him aim. I could also see that the man aiming could make his weapon fire up at the sky by crouching. The most striking feature was how this Ballistae gained its power. There was no bundle of catgut or a sprung and heavy ‘bow’ to send the bolts on their way. Instead, there were large brass upright cylinders on each side at the front, with iron swing-arms coming from them connected to the bowstring. I went up to the ballistae and put my hand on one of the Brass cylinders and gave the man named Feri a questioning look.  
  
Phaing nodded at Feri. “I think Jharroque already guessed, but open it up and let them have a look.”  
  
Feri opened a box at the base of the weapon and removed a wooden handle that had a canvas strap at the end. He used this to unscrew the top of the cylinder. Inside was a steel spring, and enough oil to nearly fill the remainder of the space in the Brass bottle.  
  
Joscelin looked over my shoulder. “That reminds me, I have been wanting to know where you find so much high-quality steel.”  
  
“And you just reminded _me_ , you folks didn’t happen to find my sword-breaker, did you?”  
  
His eyes must have flickered my way, because that was where Phaing’s gaze went next. I sighed, and nodded. “Yes. But, it seemed dangerous to carry without its sheath. Its back with the rest of my things on Twilight Rhapsody.”  
  
“What a lovely name for a ship! Well, we’ll talk about it later, perhaps I can have a tour of your vessel, someday?”  
  
Now there was a question that I had no good answer for, all things considered. Fortunately, two more of her crew were approaching, and Feri said to Phaing; “Evike’ and Gyozo have been wanting to speak to you, ma’am. If our Guests will allow?”  
  
“I don’t know, _will_ they?” Phaing asked us, with a lop-sided grin.  
  
“We’ll be right here.” Imriel assured her, and watched her go aft to have a private conversation with Feri and two young-looking crew. I thought one of them must be a woman. As soon as they were out of earshot, he turned to Jharroque and thumped the frame of the Ballistae with his hand. “Well, what do you think?”  
  
The Lieutenant of Marines ran his hand down the body of the deadly machine. “I’ve never seen such a fine one, ever. Oh, it’s not any great mystery, making one like this, back in the days of Empire, Tiberium made some very much like this. The idea was to have one that can be used in an instant, one that won’t be affected by damp or a long time out of use. You have to keep after our sort, you see, always something to be tightened or adjusted.” He put his hand on the crank that would be used to put tension on the springs. “A very nice machine, but I would never recommend that we copy it. Just by looking at it, I can tell that its twice as good as anything we have, and it cost _ten_ times what ours do to procure. That is exactly the opposite of what you want for the military. I’d rather have lots of company than the shiniest toy on the battlefield. Am I making sense?”  
  
It was I that was puzzled, but not by the cold military equation. “This isn’t a military ship. It only has one… could more be mounted on this deck?”  
  
He shook his head. “It would clutter things up too much, and the way this one is mounted it can fire in any direction that isn’t blocked by a mast. But, it can also fire _up_ , and I can’t say why anyone would want to…” Jharroque saw something in my eyes, and asked; “Is there something I should know, Highness?”  
  
Imriel shookhis head. “Not at the moment, but thank you for your assessment.” Phaing was still talking to her people, back to us. “Any changes in your opinion of this crew, or what there is of it.”  
  
Jharroque also glanced Phaing’s way. “They took her words to heart, brutal as they were. But they are also very loyal, to Phaing. If anything were to threaten her, I think we’d have real trouble here. Nothing we can’t handle, but if you have anything planned regarding her removal-“  
  
“That will be enough!” My voice was low, and perhaps sharper than I intended. “That woman is not an enemy. Misguided perhaps, but no… if anything cruel happens to her it will be because we failed to prevent it, not because we inflicted it.”  
  
Jharroque was not the only one taken aback by what I said, but Joscelin and Imriel held their tongues. Our Marine did not; “Yes, Princess, that’s welcome news. Any other information you can share with us would be most appreciated.”  
  
He was asking, begging really, for something he could tell his men in what must have been an increasingly mysterious situation. For me, it was a sharp reminder of just how much we had been asking of him, and all the rest of the people that had followed us all the way from Kyrnos. Ah, but where to start… the fact that the Ballistae he had just described to us was made with killing a Dragon in mind? “Know that your loyalty is known and appreciated. We are hard at work prying the truth from Phaing ourselves, its my hope that we will have something to tell you tomorrow.” That was all I could say, and for a mercy it was more than enough for Jharroque. He bowed to us and touched his brow.  
  
“I thank you, Dauphine. By your leave?” I nodded for him to go on his way.

  
There were a pair of Bolts hanging from the body of the device, close at hand for easy reloading. They had broad heads, covered by some sort of waxed paper. Imriel reached for one, and Feri glanced over Phaing’s head just in time to shout a warning. He sounded near panic, and Phaing whirled around. “Do NOT touch that!”  
  
Imriel stepped back, hands up and held wide. Feri came jogging up while Phaing made a hurried end to her conversation with the teenagers. Imriel’s gesture indicated confused irritation now, and Feri went to one knee before us before explaining; “The heads are covered with Tigerfish poison! We keep them covered to preserve the poison, please don’t touch them!”  
  
“I certainly won’t now!” Imriel dropped his hands and made a face at the bolts. “More poison… Tigerfish?”  
  
I had never heard of such a thing either, but Feri nodded. “Yes sir, kept at its peak by mixing a little salt in under direct sunlight. Its deadly!”  
  
“What?” Phedre made him repeat that last statement, and then asked that Phaing meet us up on the aft deck. She looked at the rest of us. “I don’t know much about poison, but does that sound right to you? Treating a toxin like that… wouldn’t that make it _less_ dangerous?”  
  
None of us knew for sure, but my schooling allowed me to make a guess. “We can’t be sure, but perhaps it is meant to make it into something else. For instance, turn a venom that attacks the heart into one that shuts down the mind?”  
  
Imriel snapped his fingers. “Or make something intended to kill into something that causes paralysis instead? Whatever the intention, I agree that it saps the strength of the poison, somehow.” He turned a grim look on Phaing’s back as she climbed the stairs to the poop deck. “I think its high time we make her tell us about this damned Dragon of her’s.”  
  
“ _Her_ Dragon?” That sounded wrong, and forbidding, to me.  
  
“Yes, her dragon, until I hear otherwise.” He strode resolutely to the aft end of the ship, giving us all no choice but to follow him.  
  
Up on that deck there was little to see that was unusual. There was a long tiller-arm instead of a wheel, held in place by ropes and pulleys. We had to step over those ropes and up 2 stairs to reach the rearmost part of the deck where Phaing waited for us. This bit of deck was different from the rest, a long and narrow platform built for lightness in an unnerving way. Two-inch thick slats cris-crossed in a lattice pattern with 2” gaps between them. Through the gaps we could look down and see the sea rushing away, a frothy wake of white bubbles and dark water. It looked to be going past very quickly from this angle, and far below out feet. I knew it wasn’t made this way to upset us, and it was the logical place for Phaing to end her tour, yet it still put my back up. She must have been aware of how this place might affect us, yes she leaned back casually on the railing at the rear of the platform, hands braced out to either side on a railing that was nearly shoulder-height for her.  
  
“Those youngsters I was talking to are my navigator and cartographer.” She called out to us as we approached. The wind was stronger here, one would have had to shout to be heard by the man at the tiller. “They know their craft, and they tell me we can make Cytheria in 4 days if the weather continues normal-like. I… uh…. suppose that may or may not be _good_ news?” She eyed us carefully. We approached her 4-abreast and came close enough to wall her off from the rest of the ship. She sighed and raised her face to the sun, eyes closed to the glare. “Very well, what would you like to hear about now? The battles I have fought, the spells I know listed in alphabetical order, who exactly my contacts are on your world? Go ahead, ask away, let’s get this done with.”  
  
Imriel’s face might as well have been carved from stone. “No, I think we have heard enough about _you_ for one day. Maybe later.” Her eyes opened wider just a hair, focused on him. “I think its time you told us about Merrin the Grey. And it would be nice if you told us why you have weakened the poison you intend to fire at him.” Now her head came up, and for the first time, Phaing looked as if she felt trapped. 

Phedre asked, “What is the connection between the two of you? Were you a slave to him as well, or something more-“  
  
“Comrades in Arms.” She snapped, interrupting Phedre. “You understand that? I’m no minion of his, how the Hell can you even think that? We fought on the same side to save our world … Gods DAMN it! We bled together, don’t you remember what its like, how people bond in a war? What is wrong with you?!”  
  
Phedre, to her credit, was having none of it. “That’s the sort of speculation you can get used to, or you can start telling us what the truth of the matter is. We have all day, and three more after that at the very least.”  
  
Phaing muttered something, the last two words were; “… not ready.”  
  
“It does not matter if you are ready or not, its going to come out one way or the other.” Imriel was as impatient as was I.  
  
“YOU are not ready! You barely believe I exist and I am standing right in front of you! Oh, very well, you asked for it. But you are going to have to let me do some serious drinking before this day is over. You may want to join me. Hmmm… alright, let me start with an illusion. This is _not_ real, is a memory that I will make into an image that you can see with your round little eyes. It’s the best way to start.” She turned her back to us, and I thought about how much that showed of Phaing’s trust in us. I nudged Imriel, and saw that he felt it too, his face going a little softer. Phaing put her hands to the sides of her head, and muttered some arcane words that none of us could make out. Then she thrust her hands out, fingers twisting, and the sunlit ocean behind the ship faded, a new image took the place of our earthy reality.  
  
The scene before us was a dim, cloudy day, but still bright enough to see details clearly. It was a city scene, with two-story buildings to provide us with a scale of size. Phaing was thoughtful that way, but she had much practice explaining about Merrin, as we soon learned.  
  
No, _she_ was not the one that wasn’t ready for this, just as she had tried to tell us.  
  
Merrin the Grey was well named, but it would be misleading to think that his appearance was plain. His body was many shades of Grey, from the off-white of his eyes to the nearly black talons sprouting from his limbs and the pinions of his wings. He would look black in the night, nearly, and I thought of the Grey that Joscelin wore. He had elegant lines, everything about him in that image was awe-inspiring, not the least of which was the way he carried himself. This was no animal, nor a monster in the common sense of the word. Eyes shining with genuine intelligence, he sat on his haunches among the buildings without damaging any of them. Merrin’s mouth began moving, he was speaking in our general direction, and the way his head moved made me think that he was addressing a large gathering. Yes, he was making a speech of some sort, but Phaing’s illusion did not allow for sound. His eyes, a light blue-grey that were piercing even in this image, swept up to the viewer’s point of view, and it seemed that he was looking at us. Even Phaing seemed to shiver, and I nearly put a hand on her shoulder. Phedre was off to my right, her hand over her mouth, and Joscelin stood stock-still by her side.  
  
Merrin finished his words, and spread his wings as if he were about to fly away. Phaing froze the image there, his head tilted up and his body rising from the city he had been sitting in. “Merrin the Grey, the great Draconic Emperor of Lista. The killer of Kali and the bane of the Streegoi. Founder of the Ulistarri Throne. Litch-breaker.” She turned her head to regard us, Imriel in particular. “How’s that for a title? There he is, all 30 tons of him. Wingspan; 218 feet. Bite diameter; 7 feet… I know that one for certain because I once spent half a day in his mouth. Had to-“  
  
This time it was I who interrupted her. “ _What_?” I think nearly shrieked, Phaing let the illusion fade as I grabbed her by the shoulder and turned her to face me. “You did what?!”  
  
If she was surprised or offended to be handled so by me, there was no sign of it. Phaing has a distant look as she continued her report; “Had to hang on for dear life to leather straps around his eye-teeth, hoping he’d remember not to swallow. He can withstand almost anything, a hostile environment that would fry, freeze of suffocate almost any other creature, even other Dragons. I had to travel with him, and the only way was inside his hide somehow. So, yeah, that’s about it. Whatever gets the job done, right?”  
  
Joscelin took a step away, looking green. I feared that his sea-sickness might return. Phedre stepped up to kiss Phaing's cheek. “And to think, people call _me_ brave!”  
  
Phaing blinked, and nearly recoiled from her. “You ARE, the bravest woman I have ever heard of! What you did and Troyes L’Monte… _cripes_ lady, I would never have done that, knowing how it must end. No, not me…”  
  
“Oh? But you would have gone into Darsanja, alone even.” Phedre said, a little breathless. She was seeing Phaing more clearly now, somehow.   
  
Phaing ducked her head, and said softly; “That was different.”  
  
“What?” Imriel understood instantly. “You would not face torture and death for the sake of hundreds of soldiers, but you would for the sake of one boy?” That boy, of course, being Imriel himself.  
  
“Absolutely goddamn right.” Phaing looked up at him calmly, offering no compromise. “That boy never asked to be where he was. Those soldiers had some idea of what they were getting into, and the bulk of them out for glory and excitement, something to boast of after _years of training_ for it. Don’t you doubt that for a moment, young Prince.”  
  
Phedre shook her head at Imriel and wrenched the conversation back on track by asking; “ _Streegoi_ , what does that mean? And … ‘the killer of Kali’… that can’t mean what I think it means.”  
  
“It does.” Phaing said with a tired voice. “Streegoi translates as Undead. He’s been downright fanatical about exterminating them for a long, long time. Kali, you know that name? I’m guessing its been a while since she had anything that could be called a direct influence here. Yes, he tricked her and killed her… on our plane of existence.”  
  
“A Goddess?” That was too impossible to be disturbing, yet. For me, Phaing may be real, but not the rest of this  
  
“How?” Phedre gasped out her last questions.  
  
“There are two ways that I know of. Gods can come down, interact with us mortal beasties in real-time by means of an avatar, a mortal they mentally and spiritually take possession of. I see by the looks you are giving me that such things don’t happen here, glad to see that. But, while powerful, they can be defeated by… something like Merrin. Um, the other way is to cause the God’s faithful to fight among themselves, war even, until there are so few that the God’s connection starts to fade, or it starts dying of a broken heart. Of course, that’s a good way to force on to come down into an Avatar to prevent just that outcome, and back we go to the 1st method.” The matter-of-fact way Phaing described that monstrous process allowed for no disbelief. She continued; “Kali was a relatively minor facet, a Goddess of assassination or murder for the fun of it, so Merrin likes being called her ‘killer’. The other, I don’t think you have a name for him, but I don’t think Bahamut was such a bad fellow, _per se’_.”  
  
“Please, just stop.” I needed a moment to take that in, and I took a firm grip on the railing, and put my other arm around Imriel. “I’m alright, it’s just… why is he here? What does he want?”  
  
She was the one reaching out to me now. I welcomed her hand on my arm for some reason I could not name yet. “I have diverted him from far less worthy worlds, he can’t be doing that sort of thing here. He…. Merrin…. Ah! This is the hard part, are you all still with me? Can I go on with this?”  
  
All of us said “Yes!” or nodded, myself last of all. There was no stopping now.  
  
Phaing took a deep breath. “He’s not just a Dragon, he’s a mentalist… you know that already… but what you don’t know is that he’s slowly losing his mind. He’s losing his grip on sanity, and that's not even the worst part. The worst part is, he knows _exactly_ what is happening to him, and he is powerless to stop it. I can’t imagine a more terrifying fate someone that built his existence on his mental powers. You can see it in his eyes…” She glanced at us all, and sighed again. Knowing we would demand it, she cast another illusion.  
  
In this view, only Merrin’s head and neck was visible, and the change was more starling than the initial view of him had been to me. His lips were curled back in a sneer that bared his shocking teeth. He looked gaunt somehow, in what I could see of his head and throat. Not what I would call a Crocodile, yet certainly closer to it than what the earlier image had shown. The eyes were the worst; crazed, fanatical, fault-lines clear to even one untrained in seeing them, such as myself. Eyelids peeled back and irises dilated to pinpricks, it was hard to see how anyone from this viewpoint could have remained alive.  
  
“Blessed Elua…!” I whispered.  
  
“…save us all.” Imriel completed the thought.  
  
Phaing raised a hand to erase the image, but Joscelin caught her arm and held it tight. I could not imagine why he would, I certainly didn’t want to see any more. Once again. Phaing was not offended at being handled that way, but she was as puzzled as I was, until we saw what Phedre was up to; She was holding her hand up, blocking off parts of Merrin’s face, examining parts of the image in isolation from the rest. Alone among us, she was not horrified so much as she was intrigued.  
  
“How long has he… been suffering this condition, headed down this path?” Phedre was sounding clinical, detached to my ears. Imriel, who had known her much longer than I, later told me that she was being very careful to phrase her words in just the right way.  
  
“Oh, since about the time I started losing track of the years. I’m sorry I can’t be more exact than that.”  
  
Phedre tilted her head, looking closely at Phaing. “Half a century, at your best guess?” Phaing shrugged. “What changes have you noted in him, during that time?”  
  
“Changes? You mean… in his… _condition_?” Phaing looked again at the image, and then away with a wince. Phedre was still studying Merrin, so Joscelin shrugged and lowered his hand. “Changes…” She looked as if change was something she dared not imagine in the Dragon. “No, not something I can pinpoint. Sometimes he seems perfectly rational, sometimes he’s completely off the map. Lately, he seems to have become tired, lackluster somehow. Its as if he is having second thoughts, and what a wonderful thing that would be! What he is planning, it’s just so wrong!”  
  
“What _is_ he planning?”  
  
“His legacy. He knows that his time is running out. What he wants to do is..” she took another deep breath, and there was nothing theatrical about it. Were I in her place, knowing what she knew, I would have jumped overboard rather than continue. Yet, she did; “… is teach the Universe a lesson. He is looking for a corrupt world, one that has abused it’s very Global Soul, and he’s going to nudge it over the edge. Not to kill it, that would be too merciful. He’s going to drive them all as mad as he is, and beyond. Merrin will preside in secret over a world where everyone knows un-ending conflict, triumphs and misery, war with others and themselves, or wallow absolute emptiness. Life will become barren of all but the choice between treacherous mastery or abject submission. Victory or defeat will lead to despair in the end, but no matter how it goes, not a single soul on that world will ever know one thing; a moment of peace.” She took another deep, shuddering breath, searching out eyes to see if she had gone too far yet. Her eyes lingered on mine, but she went on. “Once he has achieved that, once he himself and an entire populated world has gone over the edge, irrevocably mad and evil and ruined, he believes that a crescendo of soul-screams will radiate outwards, all through the multiverse perhaps. And the message will be; ‘Here is the price of evil, here is what happens to your world, your _essence_ , when you abandon the better angels of your nature. Be righteous and good to each other, lest this be your fate’. And thus, Merrin will have out-done the Gods, and fade away into nothingness well satisfied with himself.”  
  
Phaing paused again. The hardest part for her was yet to come, I could sense that, and it made me go ice-cold all over. What she was describing was so hideous that it made what happened to Carthage seem minor by comparison.  
  
“He’s here now? To do that to _us_?” I don’t recall which of us asked that question, it may have been me.  
  
“He….? No! Oh dear Gods no… this world is nothing like the ones he has inspected, tested, and moved on from. That’s what he does, you know, he has a code. He gives them a chance to prove he is wrong about them. Merrin is very particular, he wants a world that is already beyond redemption. So, I have been tracking him. I do my best to warn them, to help them find a way to appease him. Its hard to keep track of years when every world has different measures of time. 50 of your years is just a guess, its been about that many worlds, I think. Not a bad track record on my part, eh? But, he’s … I don’t know, I just don’t know anymore…”  
  
“Phaing, my nemesis,” I said that to focus her on me, her mind was starting to wander again, “ _why_ is he _here_?”  
  
She seemed to melt back into the railing, and said in a barely audible voice; “I wasn’t following him this time. I _lured_ him to this world.”  
  
I didn’t realize that I had lunged forward to strike Phaing until I felt Imriel’s arms around me, holding me back. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Phedre doing the same thing to Joscelin, restraining him and his balled-up fists. It didn’t really register with me yet, the edges of my vision were clouded by a red mist that I had not experienced since that Carthaginian spell on my mind was broken. I’d had no enemy within reach to throttle in that moment, but I did now. Held back, I still struggled to break free, and threw a kick that came up just short of her crotch. Phaing didn’t flinch back, and I had the impression that being hit was one of the least surprising things that could have happened to her at that moment. “WHY DID YOU _DO_ THAT?!” I screeched at her. “”WHY WOULD YOU BRING THAT MONSTER _HERE_?”  
  
“I thought it could be stopped, somehow.” Phaing said, voice small, child-like. “I thought he could be cured. You have miracles here, Gods that actually _care_ what happens to you. There has to be something that can be done…”


	4. 17

 

 

 

 

 

17

There was the feeling that I was standing on nothing at all, and it had naught to do with the see-through decking I was standing on. All that I knew for sure was that I had to make is stop, I had to pause, and perhaps with the help of my loved ones I could get my feet back on something solid. We weren’t ready, but it was done. This otherworldly mess had been dropped squarely in our laps, what now?

“Leave us.”

For just an instant, I thought that my Mother the Queen was standing among us. It was that same cold, imperious voice, that downward tone. But no, those clipped words had come from my own damnable mouth.

Phaing herself had the decency to flee, after just a heartbeat of hesitation. Twisting and darting away, she got past us without touching anyone. Her dark face had gone very red, eyes glittering but not tearing up… this murderously gifted warrior/sorceress ran from us hunched over like a whipped cur. Sending her away was not a mistake, Imriel’s arms still around me communicated that to me… but the way I had _done_ it was so wrong that I turned to her and reached out again. I was far too late of course, and now saw the rest of the ship.

My caterwauling had attracted notice, our Marines started to gather near the tiller. Phaing bolted past them and dashed out of sight. She leapt down the stairway and I could hear the door to the cabin slam shut behind her. The Indiscreet’s crew were upset, and their looks towards us showed a renewed hostility. I turned back to Imriel, but before I could say anything, I heard Joscelin thump into the railing and groan. “I think I’m going to be sick again.”

That was all it took. The word association flashed into my brain and I felt my breakfast rocketing up from my stomach. I only just made it to the rail in time. Spasm after spasm racked my body, and I was sweating and drained by the time I was done. It was awful, and so when I saw Imriel smirking, I was so shocked that I was ready to kick him. He nodded at the illusion of Merrin. Some of what I had ... sent _out_ , had hit the image, and the illusion sparked and faded away. For some strange reason, it made me feel a little better. We both thought we saw some clue there, that the touch of something real might be the way to shatter Phaing’s little illusions.

Poor Joscelin, my reaction to his trigger had in turn triggered his own sickness, he was practically draped over the railing. Only Imriel and Phedre were able to retain that fine breakfast, and Phedre was not looking well either, leaning on the railing and whispering a fervent prayer to our Gods. I tried to join her in that, but the disgusting remnants of what had come from my stomach made my nose and mouth burn. “Water, please!”

Imriel repeated the order and dashed away to meet the only marine that dared to step up on to the platform. My Prince returned with a water skin, and when I finished rinsing my mouth and blowing my nose, I passed it to Joscelin. By the time we were done with it, Phedre was finished with her prayers and had her hands up in front of her face. Her palms here pressed together, fingers up with the tips to the bridge of her nose. She looked composed, peaceful, and the sight of her like that restored my balance just enough to steal my panic away. I won’t say that I was hopeful at that point, but I was able to compose myslef, and take my proper place at Imriel’s side.

“No.” Phedre said simply. “This is not how the pieces fit together.” She dropped her hands and smiled at us in her improbable way. “There is more to this, _much_ more.”

Imriel shook his head. “I don’t think I want to know any more of this… and please, no more of this ‘all knowledge is worth having’ nonsense. Please?”

“But its not nonsense, love, and its very helpful to know that Phaing has been thwarting Merrin for half a century. That _is_ a very good record, when all is said and done.”

I stamped my foot. “If its so good, why did she drop this in our laps?”

Phedre was so serene that a wild impulse to slap her flashed through my mind. “What she has done is cross a void that we cannot imagine, come to beg for a miracle so that she can help someone. I for one see no reason to be harsh with her when it comes to that.”

“Some _one_?”

“Yes. Perhaps not what we would think of as a person, in the strictest sense of the word, but Merrin is a sentient being. Alien and difficult for us to understand, but not so much for Phaing. I wish to hear more from her, and any clues she can provide will be very helpful." 

Every word she said was true, as we could only assume that every word out of Phaing's mouth had been true as well. Phedre had prayed, and then spoken, and so I was able to shake off my shock and some of the horror we had been hit with. If you know the Comtess Phedre no' Montreve's history, you know how effective and enlightening her prayers can be. If you do not, then you must sit down and do some serious reading someday. To understand Phedre is to understand our way of life.

For his part, Imriel put an arm over my shoulder and announced; “Very well. I’m going after Phaing, are you with me?”

I nodded. He had been looking at Phedre, and she went to him as well, and found herself under his other arm. Joscelin nodded as well, but did not move away from the railing. “In a moment.” He waved us off, still clinging to the artfully carved wood.

The man who had tracked Berlick across Vralia, killed a Warlock and faced down the entire city of Elua gone mad by himself, marched the two of us back to another confrontation with Phaing. At the tiller, 3 of our Marines awaited us, Jharroque in the center of them. Standing apart from them was Feri and the sailor at the tiller, neither of whom looked as if they liked us very much.

“Lieutenant, I’d like you to talk to the crew of this ship, and find out what they know about a Dragon named Merrin.” That was all Imriel said to them as we swept past. I caught a fleeting glimpse of Feri’s face, and he looked as if he’d like to join Joscelin at the railing.

We found Phaing sitting at the far end of the booth, pouring an amber liquid into a small pewter cup and then gulping it down. One of her apprentices was at work in the small chartroom and turned quickly, looking up at us fearfully. It was Evike’, and indeed a girl, with nothing but short hair and a boy’s smock for disguise. The way she regarded us stirred no pity in me.

“ _Leave_ us.” Phaing snarled at Evike', glaring at us through her eyebrows, and pouring herself yet another drink. Evike’ left by climbing down the ladder, since we were still in the doorway. Phaing opened her mouth to say something else, but at that moment 2 crewmen opened the doorway to the pillow chamber, surprising us all. “ _By the waterlogged Gonads of Poseidon_!” Phaing barked at them, “Aren’t you done yet? Get out of here, and give us some peace! Go!”

They also fled, down the ladder with small sacks over their shoulders. The second one closed the hatch behind him. I recalled the overhead cubbyholes in that sleeping chamber, holding the belongings of the crew. They must have been waiting since the night before to retrieve them.

Whatever Phaing wanted to say was again forestalled, this time by the arrival of Joscelin. She threw up her hands and then slapped them down on the table top. “Would you mind locking that damn door?” She pointed out the Bottles one by one, starting with what she was drinking. “Rum, Ouzo, Ice Wine, take your pick. The pitcher is just water.” Phedre was sliding into the bench on the right as she spoke, and so I took the one on the left, staring at hard at Phaing. She caught my look and sat up straight. “If you come at me a third time, I _will_ hit back.”

I wanted to sweep the bottles from the table, but Phedre was already reaching for one of them. “Ice Wine? I’ve never heard of it, is there a story here as well?” We all noticed the serenity in her voice, even Phaing heard it. I saw a flare of something like hope in her eyes, until she blinked it away.

  
“Oh, that? Its milder than the rest, good stuff.” Phedre prompted her to go on with one of her soulful smiles. Phaing responded, leaning back and looking past our men, past the wall at the far end of the chamber. “It’s a rare thing, when the first frost strikes while there are still grapes ripe on the vines. As soon as it strikes, always in the darkest part of the night, they start ringing the bells. Everyone goes tumbling out of bed, a coat thrown over nightclothes, and goes dashing out into the rows with baskets. Its work that must be done quickly, you know, the grapes must be cut and covered up before the sun hits them. You run, laughing like fools as often as not, cut more bunches and run to the next frame, cut cut cut, cover up the precious little frozen Grapes, and off to the next. It’s a race you always loose in the end, the Sun comes to claim it’s share, but by then everyone from the masters of the vinyard to the stable-boys have saved enough grapes to create the next batch of something special.”

I was awed anew with Phedre. She had effortlessly swept aside Phaing’s defiant, defensive stance with one deft question. She later admitted to me that she had been lucky; she had not known that she would be able to evoke a personal memory in the _Alfar_ ’s mind.

Phaing’s impulsiveness may have been rubbing off on us, but we all decided to sample the stuff, even Joscelin joined us as it lacked the brutal reek of raw alcohol that the other bottles had.

It was nothing like _Joie_ , that rare spirt made with snow-flowers and served at mid-winter. No trace of the frost, but the result was to create a concoction that locked the living essence of the grapes in place until it touched our mouths. Fruity, sweet, and sitting on the tongue like a bead of mercury rolling along, it was not meant to be taken in large quantities. A little did a lot of good, and soon, I felt hungry again. I held my tongue, thinking of Joscelin, but a moment later he gave voice to my very thought. Phaing absently nodded to an overhead cupboard, where we found the remaining half of that loaf of bread from this morning. Joscelin sat next to me and we tore into the bread, Imriel took a seat next to Phedre and reached across the table for the amber bottle that Phaing was still taking her refreshment from.

“Rum?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s a distillation of molasses… an early attempt, not a terribly good one. But, it does the job.”

Imriel sniffed the neck of the squat, rounded bottle, and made a face, setting it down just out of Phaing’s reach.

“I think we started off wrongly with Merrin.” Phedre said while Phaing was rolling her eyes at Imriel. “Too soon for us, perhaps, but also too late. Too late in _his_ story. Would you favor us, if you could, by starting at the beginning with Him… his foundation, if that is possible? Do you know anything of how Merrin came about?”

Phaing perked up. “Yes! He went missing for a time, over a millennium. When he re-emerged, I was part of a group that went hunting for information about him, genuine articles. What we found was even better than we had bargained for, the old reptile had begun work on an autobiography while he was still Emperor!”

Phedre leaned forward, eyes glittering. “You have a copy of a book he wrote?”

“Well, no, it was in possession of a Sage that read from it, for as long as our gold-dust lasted in his hourglass.”

I felt my nose wrinkle up. “That sounds like a highly lucrative library.”

“Merrin was writing his own story?” Phedre pressed. “Why? I thought you said he was secretive.”

“He is _now_. Simply showing his face at Carthage was an aberration, nevermind what he did there. But way back when, he was bent on being the greatest ruler our world had ever known. Not just powerful and innovative, but popular to the point where people would compete to make his ideas reality. I believe the operative phrase is _a Cult of Personality_.”

It was a phrase I had never heard of, and if I never hear it again I will be a very happy woman. “Emperor…. _People_ … are we getting ahead of ourselves again?”

“Yes… alright, let me think here…. The best way for me to do this is to tell it the way I heard it. Its from his own point of view, so don’t worry, I ain’t channeling Merrin or anything stupid like that. If I tell it like I heard it, this won’t take too terribly long.”

It should be obvious by now that having something productive to do made Phaing much easier to deal with. In this instance, she finished the last of her Rum and put her hands braced on the edge of the table with her arms straight and spine rigid. Her head feel back a little, eyes closed, and she began to speak with a voice that sounded positively archaic to me.

  
It was good that she had warned us, it would have been easy to mistake her long practice at telling this tale for something else… from the first sentence Phaing no longer sounded like herself.


	5. 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a departure from the rest, told exclusively from the Dragon's point of view.   
> I wish that a different font for this chapter could have been possible.

18

My earliest memories are of darkness, damp caves, and of a Monster who sometimes fed me.

Sylvorum Elf-stalker was a flying black cloud of teeth and talons. His mastery of the silent glide made him the terror of the Sentinel Spires Mountain range. That Dragon’s reputation was so foul that no intelligent beings would deliberately enter his territory.

This was my father.

Of my mother, I know nothing. Sometimes, when Sylvorum would delve into his stores of intoxicating brews, he would mutter about some female named ‘Chrys’. Perhaps that was short for Crystal, perhaps that was her name.  
I was a disappointment to my father. His habit of tormenting his prey before eating it nauseated me. His treasures; a bed of cold hard stones and bits of metal, was of no interest to me. Causing forest fires to forage for crispy treats among the ashes seemed wasteful to me. This, and other things, caused a deepening rift between us as time crawled by.

When by myself, I was content enough. Miserable, lonely, confused, yet content. Men, Dragons, Fey or what have you, we all seem to have a remarkable ability to be happy enough to go on living.

Then one day my Father summoned me from my favorite waterfall with a roar that started landslides in two nearby provinces. He ordered me to guard a new treasure he had acquired. It was called a Barbarian Princess, something he intended to trade for its weight in gold. How wonderful...  
I soon confronted a strange sight, a little pink biped with a mop of black fur atop her head and clutching at scraps of other furs that were obviously not her own. The ‘princess’ was small, and dark of hair and eye, but her spirit was bright enough to confront me directly. I was not nearly as terrible as Sylvorum, yet it must have required considerable courage to face me and ask “Are you going to eat me?”

The very idea of eating something that could converse with me was so repulsive and ridiculous that for a moment I was nonplussed. What in all creation would make her ask such a question? Being somewhat innocent, I thought about this, and eventually came up with a perfectly reasonable answer; this little talking beast must be close to starving! Why else would she be wondering what _I_ would like to eat?

I foraged about the forest and soon returned with a collection of things that I thought might be edible. I really had no idea what humans were at this point, let alone what they might eat. The collection I placed before her was somewhat… varied. She took a few things, ate a little bit and placed some of the rest on a rock shelf behind her. Then, she thanked me and complained about nothing, introducing me to the concept of politeness. When she was done, I cleared the mess away (some of the things I had brought were offensive, even to me) and shooed away something that I had thought was a truffle. I then settled down to guard duty, although it was unclear to me what I was supposed to be guarding her _from_. She told me her name was Annarinda, and engaged me in conversation.

Her people had lived on the northern plateau for many generations. Drought and a series of other natural disasters had driven them south. In the lowlands they had not found the terrible armies that their Grandfathers had warned them about, but soft, fat simpletons who fell like wheat before their axes, when they were not running away. The Barbarian Warriors were so overjoyed at their success that they sent word back for their families to join them. So Annarinda had come south to join her Chieftain father, and rejoiced in his prosperity. The bounty of the lush south would see her people through the winter. For a change, none would starve of freeze to death. I had no objection to any of this; it was nature’s way that the strong would survive, and her people seemed happy enough.  
And then Sylvorum had happened along…

The Barbarians had not been interested in Gold or gemstones, these things being inedible. Now, driven by my father’s ransom demands, they would have to attack strongholds they had earlier bypassed, and take terrible risks for this “treasure”. Despite the low regard my father held for me, and I him, I was intrigued by this.

For her part, Annarinda absorbed the details of my rather staid and boring life with rapt fascination. I became proud of my ability to entertain her, something I did with honest words without any Draconian embellishment or boastfulness. She even commented on my command of her native language, she said she could practically see the meaning of my words in her mind. I was too amazed to speak for a moment. Command of mannish tongues was the first step in learning spell magic, something that my father had continuously postponed. I corrected her, it was her facility with Draconian that allowed us to converse. Annarinda thought about this for a moment, and then smiled in a sly and secretive way.

“Can you hear me?” she asked. I had, of course, but then I realized something, a crucial fact that stopped my heart for a moment.  
Her lips had not moved.

A witch! I nearly fled from her; I almost barged out of the cavern and brought Sylvorum down on us both. Before I could move more than a few feet, she explained it all to me in a strobe of mental images and ideas, and made the truth known to me in an instant. I sum it up in one word; Psychic. All creatures are supposed to have this power, although nearly all are latent as stones. Nearly all beings are deaf to the wonders that their own minds are capable of. One in a million can call this power forth in useful forms, and bend it to their will. This was my Annarinda, one in a million.

The next few days were a learning experience that was more like an unfolding, a revelation. It is impossible for me to tell you what it is , this process of discovery. Spend the first half of your life at the bottom of a well, and then climb out and tell me what the sun, the stars and the world around you looks and feels like. Do that, and you will have taken the first step in understanding us.

We no longer needed our voices to communicate, and to share in ways I had never dreamed of. Of course, I needed a certain amount of training in this, and in other things. Annarinda might have been a minor power by any standard, but her psi-energy flowed like a well-dammed mill stream; every erg was efficiently utilized. I, on the other hand, was like a raging torrent, tumbling through rapids without rhyme or reason. Under her tutelage, I found a rhythm that I could exploit. With a joy undiminished by oceans of time, I recall the first look I had at the outside world without my body leaving the cavern.

Annarinda was not teaching me to gain advantage over me, or worm her way out of her predicament. It is such a rare thing for people with our abilities to meet, that we naturally feel drawn to each other. As far as I know, I am the only Dragon thus gifted, so this spontaneous camaraderie is unusual for me, but that is just the way it was with Annarinda. That is how I remember it… and why should I not choose to do so?

And you, doubters and the unenlightened among you, how dare you question us? We, who owe nothing to your beliefs, you notions of mysticism or the way things ought to be! We are not only beyond your imaginings;  
WE _ARE_.

Then came the night we went on a journey beyond ourselves. What a ghastly, wondrous feeling of total freedom and utter poverty it is to be separated from one’s own body! Your plasma tries to re-form itself in a tiny, wispy image of the flesh left behind. We did not fly so much as we seemed to dash with incredible speed from one vista to another.

Landmarks blinked by, and it was fortunate that I was not the pilot, but piggy-backing Annarinda’s guidance. Otherwise, I would have succumbed to vertigo before we had even left the places familiar to me. Soon, we seemed to be hovering above an encampment of more humans than I had thought could be living in the whole wide world. There were thousands of them, climbing into bed-rolls or lingering around fires. Our senses focused on a solitary female tending a small campfire. I was still so unfamiliar with humans that I could not sense a family resemblance, but there was a connection between her and Annarinda, who used her small powers to scratch letters in the dirt. The older woman smiled at this, and sat still for a moment, and then more words that I could not understand began to form.

I knew that a conversation was taking place, but this being was not broadcasting to us. Annarinda must be reading her mind. How is that done, I wondered. I gathered my energy into a needle-like projection and sent it lancing into her skull. This proved to be the wrong approach, and I regretted it immediately. Humans are mental pack-rats, storing away all sorts of worthless trivia in every corner of their heads. I felt like a librarian buried in a pile of manuscripts. I withdrew, and changed tactics, as well as the shape of my explorations. I cast a gossamer net of my own awareness over her head, hoping to catch active thoughts, and I succeeded.

How strange, how beautifully alien these thoughts were when I first heard them. A parent that actually cared for her offspring, and expressed it! “Be brave, we all pray for you. Daddy is doing everything he can, soon this will all be over. Baby… is a dragon near you?”

I had not been as stealthy as I had thought. I withdrew to meet Annarinda’s cold regard. Had I no respect for other people’s privacy? Had I no idea of the fear I could engender in anyone I might encounter? The combination of Dragon and thought-reader could cause blind panic among the masses. This advice I headed for many years, only revealing the true extent of my powers to you all when it was time to assume the mantle of Empire-builder.

We returned to the caverns unnoticed by Sylvorum, of course. My father occasionally observed us, but all he noticed was that our conversations had ended, and that we seemed to be just sitting there, staring at each other. He was glad of this, the old fool; he took this to mean that I had finally become bored with her. I knew this because I had taken to reading his mind… what there was of it.

A few nights later he summoned me to his side. He was loudly agitated, and has consumed a good part of his supply of fermented Griffon’s milk. My sire was incensed at the slow pace with which the Barbarians paid the ransom he demanded. He proclaimed, with the solemnity and grand gestures of the cataclysmically drunk, to return Annarinda to them the same way her ransom was being paid; one little piece at a time.

Annarinda was still half asleep when she found herself perched on my back, my mental directions clamping her hands tight on my scales as we flew off into the night. Our nocturnal escape was exhilarating at first, then confusing, then dreary and ultimately became frustrating. Barbarians _move_ , you see, and it was not until dawn that we finally found them. Also, Dragons rarely fly at night, air currents after dark mainly travel downwards.

{ While we are on this subject, I have heard that there are so-called Sages who have used maths to calculate that Dragons cannot actually fly. I have ceased banishing such men because I have come to agree with them. Dragons do _not_ fly, we simply beat the atmosphere into submission. }

  
When we finally located Annarinda’s people, the sight they presented was yet another life-changing experience for me.

My father’s outrageous demands had driven the Barbarians to extreme measures. When we arrived, they had just stormed the walled city of Visograd, and sacked it. I say without hesitation that this was a fortress that no Dragon ever born could have taken down on his own, however these tiny yet vehement creatures had razed it in a matter of days! It had cost them dearly, but they had learned something about themselves in the process. They learned that they could do incredible things when they stopped and planned their work.  
I have never forgotten the value of this kind of wisdom.

Annarinda’s mental shout saved us from a shower of arrows as I swept in and landed in the midst of them, staring about me with the same shock and curiosity that was being directed at mine own self. I had never understood just how many human beings there were in this world. Annarinda dismounted and ran to her father, and soon our story was known to them, as was my name. Soon I was experiencing what no non-psychic can ever understand. I basked in the admiration of the little souls all around me. In that moment, I think I came close to understanding something important… and then the moment was gone.

I sensed him before they saw him. I heard the cries, the wails of despair before I could even turn to face him. Sylvorum Elf-stalker scythed his way through the crowd with the sun at his back, his wings making hardly a sound. His approach was all the more nightmarish due to the speed of his arrival. He was focused on me, and his eyes promised nothing but bloody murder for me and mine. I snatched Annarinda up in my weaker claw and vaulted straight up into the sky.

My father, now determined to be my killer, heaved his wings and his breath started blowing through his nostrils like a straining ox. Yes, his rage at my betrayal gave him strength, but it also narrowed his vision. When he found us, Sylvorum has assumed that I was trying to claim the ransom for myself. When I bore my friend aloft to save her life, he went berserk. To him, I had betrayed my race, and become an affront to nature and tradition.

He would have caught us eventually, but escape was not my plan. I cast my new-found power over the old monster’s skull, and his thoughts were mine! Then, with one claw burdened and useless, with half his mass and none of his experience, I turned to battle Sylvorum to the death.

Much has been written of this battle, songs were sung of it. My own recollections are vague, muddied by the red haze of combat, and cannot do the bard’s tales justice. I was wounded seven times, blows struck by reflex that I could not possibly dodge. Other moves, such as brilliant snap-roll that should have put him on top of me, were turned against him. I stung him until he thought he was dying of a hundred tiny cuts. Soon he found himself with bleeding wings, flying so low that a stall would surely ground him. That was when he attempted to marshal his fiery breath against me. At the moment when a Dragon must release his breath, I wrapped my tail around his throat and kicked him in the stomach as hard as I could. I can testify that at that moment, he felt a taste of the horror he had visited on so many others, just as I intended he should.

His throat and chest erupted, and I was swatted out of the air by a chain-reaction of explosions that destroyed him utterly. Sylvorum landed in the forest, where his corpse burned and smoldered for two days. I crash-landed near the place I had taken off from. I was weak and bleeding from half a dozen places, but before I could surrender consciousness, I had to check on my precious passenger.

Historians and apologists have had much to say to excuse me at this point. It is all garbage and nonsense, of course. I looked at the pulped and bloody mess in my claw, and I knew the truth at once, I knew that I had killed her.  
Was it quick, too sudden for her to cry out to me? Did she hold herself quiet in some incredible triumph of willpower over pain, not wanting to distract me from a battle that would determine the fate of her people?

  
Dragon’s tears are said to have interesting qualities, some of them becoming gemstones. Do not make the mistake of showing me any jewels; I give such baubles away for a reason.

Annarinda’s people, good, honest folk, took me in and did what they could to shelter me from my grief. Somehow, they prevented me from doing harm to myself. These beautifully simple creatures thought that I had done something good. Even in my decrepit state, I was able to help them; who in their right mind would confront a tribe with a pet Dragon?


	6. 19

 

                                                                                            19

 

  
Phaing’s voice trailed off, and she opened her eyes. For the first time since she had begun to tell that story, her posture relaxed. She reached across the table and took the water, and a fresh cup. Her hands were steady, I thought that the Rum she had been guzzling earlier should have had a more dire effect at some point. Since then I have heard that when some people are in a very high state of tension, alcohol can restore them to a more normal state of balance.  
  
I was still upset with Phaing, how could anyone not have been? Yet it was with a pang of sympathy that I reached out to brush her arm, and then I grabbed for the Ouzo just ahead of Phedre.  
  
“I was expecting a certain amount of self-aggrandizement, especially after the way you introduced that tale.” Joscelin said slowly, taking the water next. “Self-serving it may have been, but it was also rather …personal. He never finished it, did he? That was a manuscript.”  
  
I’m afraid I blinked at Joscelin, surprised that he was the one with that insight. Phaing merely smiled and nodded at him. “True. Beware of immersing yourself too deeply in your foe’s self, old warrior. It’s clever, gallant even, but…”  
  
“But peer too deeply into the darkness, and you may find it is looking back at you, is that it?” he finished for her.  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
Imriel took the bottle of Rum up and drank straight from it. “Ah… not so bad, when you need it.” He looked at me, and then Phaing. “He does not seem very connected with his audience, as if he…. I don’t know how to put it.”  
  
“As if he does not understand us ‘little folk’ as well as he should? Yes, it was true then no matter how hard he tried, and now it can only be getting worse. Let me summarize what came next; he recovered and went from strength to strength in the world he found himself a part of. He was not greedy, not for treasure, he could be a diplomat or a whirlwind of destruction as required, and he has a brain the size of a stagecoach fully given over to it’s psychic potential. And, the land was in disarray. He eventually learned to provide leadership, and THAT was when his real greed came to the surface.”  
  
“For what?” I asked.  
  
“For _us_. For people, for adoration, for all these little sentient beings radiating approval at him. _We_ are treasure to him, and he was driven to collect all he could to him. That was why he created himself as a King, and then an Emperor. Not just of any one sort of people, he also had other Dragons, Gnomes, and some of everything in between under his banner. At one point, he had about 90% of the arable land on the continent of Narva under his control. And when he was at his peak, that’s when things started to slip.”  
  
“How?”  
  
“There was opposition, there always is. He turned on the Barbarians when he thought they were becoming a hindrance to civilization, and the Fey never trusted him at all. A power arose in the north that his Legions could not overcome. A great Mage named Thal stood against him, very effectively. Merrin hoped he would simply outlive him, but Thal transformed himself into an undead sorcerer, a Litch, and their war went on and on. Eventually, they confronted each other in a private duel, that was when they vanished for 1100 years. Something happened that froze them both in time. When they emerged, the world they knew was unrecognizable to them. Thal was rejected by his home, Fangore… yes, the very same place… Merrin on the other hand used his far-sight to look into Lista. What he saw must have been devastating. Reduced, impoverished compared to what he had been trying to achieve for them, they were happier and healthier without him. Lista was back to being a nation among many, minus a few break-away provinces, and he himself was nothing but a legend. An awesome one, to be sure, yet not a soul was looking forward to the return of the Emperor. Not one. No, not until things started to become difficult much later on, when there was _real_ trouble. Then they started to ask about him… but that is another story, and I think I am storied-out for today.”  
  
We had questions, oh did we ever, and Phaing opened her hands and nodded for us to begin.  
  
“This Thal, does he still exist?’  
  
“No, he was annihilated, I saw it myself when his end finally came, I guess you could say I was useful in that little event.” There was no triumph evident in her words.  
  
“Is everything smaller than a Dragon considered ‘liltte folk’ by Merrin?”

“To a certain extent, yes. He makes allowances, to his way of thinking. But don’t ask me to try to get into his head, that would be a bit much for me right now. Another time, please?”

  
“But his name, it sounds … strangely common. For a Dragon I mean.”  
  
“It is a contraction, a standard thing among Dragons. They prefer not to have their names butchered by us, so they come up with a form we can pronounce. There is also power in a Dragon’s true name, some say they can be controlled by them, somehow.” She saw the next question coming, and cleared her throat, and when she spoke next is was with a harsh, louder voice; “Mekratrig Kirin. That’s his true name.” And she immediately reached for more water.  
  
My teeth clicked together, I thought that Phaing had just dropped a priceless weapon at our feet.  
  
“Controlled?” Imriel leaned in to stare into Phaing’s eyes. “Did you just give us a way to turn the tables on Merrin’s mind-games? Can we really us that to…”  
  
Phaing threw her hands up.”NO! Gods no, haven’t you been hearing me? He is I-N-S-A-N-E. He is a master mentalist ten times my age and experience. He kills _Gods_ … and it drove him mad! Anyone that tries any batshit stunt like controlling his mind will instantly be hotwired into a world of shit from which there can be no coming back! Do you understand me?”

  
“I think so…” Imriel scratched his head. “Hot- _wired_?”  
  
“Like… having you skin peeled back so that your exposed nerve-endings are getting some very direct stimulation.”  
  
Phedre gritted her teeth. “I was afraid it might be something like that. Everything about him is breathtaking.”  
  
“That is a good word for it. Countess… do I see some doubts there? Is there something that you think is ringing false in my words?” Phaing was not being defensive, but curious… and even hopeful. Desperately so, as it turned out.  
  
“Pieces are still not fitting together properly.” Phedre mused, and then here eyes focused on Phaing a little more sharply, rather tha nthe tone of her words. “ _Is_ that what drove him mad, killing Gods?”  
  
“I’m not even sure if “killing” is the right word, myself, or chastisement at some level. As for specifics… I have heard that he found out the truth when he did, and that it undid him.”  
  
“The truth about what?”  
  
“Life, the universe…. every damned thing. Some things were just never meant to be known from this side of the veil and… aw shit! Phedre I didn’t mean it like that!” Phedre had put her head down, covering her face with both hands.  
  
Something happened that I nearly missed, and Phaing did not notice at all. A whisper of air let me know that Phedre’s leg was moving, tapping Joscelin and then Imriel under the table. Joscelin was his usual imperturbable self. Imriel had put his arm over his step-mother’s shoulders, leaning in so close that Phaing could not see the rapid changes in his expression. He went from concerned, to surprised, and then nodded to me with a wink that tried to signify that all was well, after all. For my part, all I could do was try to keep my face neutral.  
  
Joscelin stood up and announced. “That will do, especially for me. Imriel, I feel the need for some sparing, Join me for some exercise, won’t you?”  
  
“Me too!” Phaing came up out of her seat as if she meant to climb over the table again. There were bottles and half-full glasses in the way this time, so I hissed some warning and started to move out of the way. I was not quick enough, she scurried under the table and came up behind Joscelin as he was halfway through the door. As she followed him out, she said over her shoulder to me; “Don’t let me forget; we get you both dressed up better this afternoon.” And to Imriel she added; “We have a fine selection of practice weapons on board. You go full-contact, right?”  
  
Joscelin reached back in from outside and tugged her along with him, and Imriel paused at the door. Without looking at him, Phedre waved him off and gave him a hand-signal that I did not understand. A half-smile played over his face, and he gave me another wink before he left and shut the door. “Are they gone?” She asked, face still in her hands.  
  
“Yes, and the doors are all shut.”  
  
“Ah, good!” She sat up, and she was smiling, eyes clear and serene. “I did not want to give Phaing any extravagant hopes.” Her foot tapped mine, two taps, and repeated quickly. “One tap means yes, two for no, 3 for maybe. Two taps twice over means that person is wrong, completely.”  
  
I felt myself pull back from a precipice that I had been barely aware of. The notion that at the core of all creation, something dark and wrong was at the root of it all…  
  
I threw my arms around her and buried my hot, straining face in her shoulder. She was right, she had to be right! How could anyone with the name of God in her mind be wrong about that? I didn’t weep, it had all come to swiftly for that, but I did chide myself for how real the darkness had seemed for a moment.  
  
The ghastly thing was that Phaing did seem to believe it, and yet still carried on, in her fashion.  
  
“Why not tell her?” I whispered as I pulled myself together, letting joy overcome my brief, irrational fear of the great unknown.  
  
“I’m trying to be careful, I don’t want to kick away too many things that Phaing takes for granted.” I pulled back and gave her a dubious look. “Yes, Sidonie, she has been careless, but there is something else. How can we be sure Merrin is not manipulating her, somehow?”  
  
That made me gasp. Not just the injustice of it, but the idea that the Dragon was feeding us what it wanted us to know. “But, couldn’t you tell? If she was… you could see it, surely?”  
  
Phedre shook her head. “The name of God did not protect me from that Carthaginian spell. Some things can get past me, this sort of thing may be one of them, I’m afraid.”  
  
“But, Merrin’s true name!”  
  
“And if it’s true, it’s likely worthless to us, isn’t it? _Perhaps_ it is not, and perhaps it is his way of testing us. Using it would make us appear to be unworthy to him, wouldn’t it?”  
  
I could only agree. “Merrin would be one of those creatures who does not suffer fools gladly, that much is clear to me. Little else is… we have gone from having too few pieces to solve the puzzle, to so many that I don’t know where to start.” I tilted my head to regard her closely, and it was wonderful to see that smile still there. I needed that sort of grace, badly. “Pieces, that still are not fitting properly. Some things are clear, such as the fact that Phaing has been used so often and so cruelly that she adapted to it, and could have trouble seeing it if that was the case now.”

“She certainly thinks that _we_ have been used, and has no trouble blaming our Gods, the very Gods she seems to want help from, for that matter.”

“Her attitude about religion proves one thing; she and Merrin come from similar cultures, if not the very same one. Phaing is humbled by what she has found here, perhaps Merrin can be as well.” Phedre rolled her eyes and sat back, smile still in place. “Its all speculation, still, and I don’t think that she is really just a puppet. She has magic, a loyal crew, she left her weapons belt hanging over your head while she went sneaking out of that sleeping chamber… and yet here we are, still nominally in charge. She wants us on her side so badly she’s willing to bleed for it. There are so many things she is willing to share, things she is just dying to tell is about… and not all of it is terrible, is it?”

I considered the bottles, and chose the Ouzo again. “Worlds, millions of them. Its incredible, but it does ring true, does it not?”

  
Her smile broadened, and I found myself smiling as well. “Yes love, it does. It should be frightening, but I feel so liberated by the idea. One world was just too tiny, too precious, too limited.” We sat in companionable silence, contemplating stars beyond counting, worlds beyond knowing…  
  
Phedre continued; “I want to save her. The things she says, the things she must know, some of that was just so priceless.”  
  
I nearly laughed. “You mean that part about being happy? Yes, that stays with me as well... oh, save _her_? What about the rest of us?”


	7. 20

 

The sparing was noteworthy.  
  
Things had only just been sorted out when Phedre and I emerged from the dining area/Chartroom, our exit allowing the anxious navigator to take his shift at the workbench.  
  
The deck had been cleared from the poop deck to the Ballistae, making for a good deal of open space on the right. The ship’s boat was to the left of the mainmast, overturned and lashed to the deck. Behind that, spectators had gathered. Some of the crew was keeping busy scrubbing the decks with blocks of limestone. Their work was what enabled us all to walk about on wooden decking in our bare feet without being tormented by splinters. The sailors at work managed to position themselves so that they had a good view of the action to come. Joscelin and Imriel were engaged in a casual exchange of strike & parry, getting used to the practice weapons while Phaing watched, sizing them up.  
  
L’Indiscreet did have a chest full of a vast assortment of practice weapons, brought up on deck and opened up for our use. A marine stepped back as I approached to take a look. The lid was lined with wooden daggers, some of which had been removed. All different sizes and shapes, most had holes drilled in them filled with enough lead to simulate the weight of a real weapon. At the bottom of the chest lay swords of various sizes as well, but these had lead weights clamped to the backs of the blades. I didn’t understand the difference until I looked up to see Imriel walk up to me, prying one of the weights off the wooden sword he had selected and dropping it into the chest. These swords could be adjusted to suit the wielder.  
  
“A kiss for luck?” He switched his weapon to his left hand and wrapped his right arm around my shoulders, pulling me in for a good, warm kiss in front of everyone. What with the way they bathed here, modesty did not have any value. His hand cradled the back of my neck, thumb and forefinger stroking the base of my head. I gave as I received, gladly, but I was shaking my head once our lips parted from each other.  
  
“Luck?” I let go a laugh, glancing at Phaing. “You just nearly had her at your mercy last time, and now its full daylight.”  
  
He shrugged, with a grim smile that bared his teeth towards Phaing. “Do you think that might help? I hope so, we’ll both be taking her on.” I snatched at his collar before he could leave. Another man might have shrugged me off, but not Imriel. I whispered some of what Phedre and I had discussed, and his expression changed. Not softer, but more balanced, and focused. Imriel was grateful to hear it, but he had trouble framing his words, there was a twist to the coming duel that I was unaware of. “That’s…. interesting, truly. Oh love, we were not planning to harm her. And to tell the truth, it was _Phaing_ that demanded that we fight her, both at the same time.”  
  
He left me staring after him with my mouth agape, and then looking for Phedre. She was with Joscelin, giving him the same information I had given Imriel, and receiving something similar in return. She joined me behind the overturned boat, shaking her head. “Princess Sidonie, how many crazy people must one deal with in a lifetime?”  
  
I stole a glance at Phaing. She was bouncing in her heels, so impatient to begin was she, and grinning fiercely. She had her hair bound up in a bun at the back of her head, revealing the shape of her head and her full face.Gods, she was a beauty, other-worldly and dreadfully desirable in the full light of day. Two daggers were thrust into the belt holding her skirt in place, and she held her own practice sword one-handed. It was something like a saber, but more like a scimitar without being true to either sort of blade. The thickest section was in the center of the curve, rather than at the tip as a proper scimitar would have had.  
  
They squared off a dozen feet apart, all three of them, in a triangular formation. Our beloved men stood at the ready, knees slightly bent and swords held two-handed. Imriel cleared his throat, wary of being caught flat-footed again. “Are you sure about this?”  
  
“Oh _yesss_.” Her voice was low and throaty, and full of something like sensual anticipation. There was not even a heartbeat to think of that, Phaing was already moving before she finished the second word.  
  
She took two quick steps towards Joscelin, then sprinted towards Imriel. I was suddenly more afraid for him than I was on that bloody night on Kyrnos. Imriel had already been moving to aid Joscelin, his speed was being used against him right from the start! Phaing skipped about him, slapping his blade up and rapping him across one knee. Imriel cursed and his counter-stroke came so close to her head that it skidded over her hair where it was gathered at the back of her head. Side-stepping, Phaing put Imriel between herself and Joscelin, leaping from side to side to continuing hammering away at his defenses. She drew a dagger and caught his Sword with it, and nearly clipped his other knee with her scimitar. She must have thought our men would get tangled up with each other, and I had to admit her tactic was a good one, but she had never fought a pair like this Casseline and his splendidly trained step-son.  
  
“From sunset!” Joscelin called out.  
  
What he said made as little sense to me as it did to Phaing. We both discovered that ‘telling the hours’, as Casseline’s referred to their practice moves, could be helpful to them in this situation. Imriel stepped neatly to the his right, and Jocelyn leaped up into the space on his left, the space claimed by the hour of sunset.  
  
Now it was Phaing who was caught flat-footed. She weaved and gave ground and somehow held them off for a few heartbeats. Her sailors and our Marines had been cheering, and now our Marines cheered loudest when Joscelin bashed the dagger out of her left hand. They cheered louder yet when back-flipped and ran from them.  
  
She did not run for long, nor was she really running _away_ from them. She went in an arc around the cleared area. Phaing came close to us, feet drumming on the hull of the boat as she went halfway up and then down it. I was close enough to see that she was still smiling, eyes bright and face glowing with the joy of what she was doing.  
  
That smile made me think of a dancer I had observed, years before in the Palace. It was only a practice session in the theater; a girl younger than myself was putting on an exhibition of leaps, spins and rapid steps that fascinated me. It was not for my benefit, she seemed worlds away. However, she knew she was doing extraordinarily well, hitting every mark and dazzling even her fellow proffesionals. It was not until she finished that anyone noticed that she had mangled her own toes so badly that her slippers were full of blood.  
  
Phaing tried to take down Joscelin next, but Imriel had only been grazed by that rap to the knee, not slowing him nearly enough to let her pull the same trick twice. Phaing found herself in between them both, and how she was able to keep her blades spinning quickly enough to fend them both off for even a heartbeat is something I’ll never understand. Not much more than three beats into that phase of the fight, she ducked and dove between Joscelin’s legs! It looked that way to us as we watched the sparring from a safe distance, what she had actually done was take advantage of a shift in Jocelyn’s wide stance, and Joscelin had had to move one leg out of her way to avoid a collision that would have tumbled him to the deck.  
  
She sprang up behind him, and I dare say she would have had Joscelin, were it not for Imriel’s sudden move. He came in at a crouch, underneath Joscelin’s sword as he came at her. Torso parallel to the deck, he parried Phaing’s slash at the small of Joscelin’s back and pried her away from him. He had over-extended himself badly, but he recovered by some sort of weird corkscrew maneuver. His torso and extended swordarm still pointed straight at Phaing, his right leg swung up and around, followed by his left, twisting him around and dropping his feet firmly to the deck. Phaing tried, but was unable to get past his spinning blade.  
  
I later asked him about that dizzying move, but Imriel was unable to recall doing it clearly. It was reflexive, and when I described it in detail, he grinned sheepishly, glad that Joscelin had not seen the whole of it. It was the sort of move that he should never have gotten away with it.  
  
Phaing was able to dart in and out, scoring minor hits and scooting out of range of reprisal, for as long as she could continue to run about the deck. Even Joscelin smiled from time to time, such as when she used a no-hand cartwheel to avoid a leg-sweep. She had parried Imriel at the same time, and her sailors cheered loudly, joined by an involuntary whoop from me. Her luck only lasted a minute or two longer, when our Champions trapped her in the corner where the wall of the aft cabin met the railing of the right side of the ship.  
  
“Daggers.” Joscelin huffed, and they both dropped swords to the deck and advanced with twin wooden daggers in hand. Phaing had her 2nd dagger in hand, and she worked a combination of moves to hold them at bay, but she was now confronted with 4 weapons coming at her and had no room to maneuver. Joscelin soon pressed his blades into the soft insides of her elbows, forcing Phaing to lower her guard, and Imriel had his daggers crossed over her throat instantly.  
  
“Do…. you… yield?” Imriel panted.  
  
“Like I have a choice?” Phaing dropped her play-weapons, and shook out her tingling arms as soon as Joscelin backed off.  
  
Now everyone on the ship cheered, and I ran up to congratulate Imriel with a hug. He was saluting Phaing with one dagger while Jocelyn backed up against the railing, leaning heavily on it while Phedre approached him, sharing a triumphant smile. “Well played, lady. _Field Marshal_ , indeed.”  
  
Phaing was breathing hard, but aside from a little sweat at her brow, she hardly looked as if she had been in a fight. She shook her head at Imriel and massaged her arms. “You two make a mighty pair, seems like I am the one that could learn from you!”  
  
“Likewise.” He nodded at her fallen sword. “What do you call that, exactly?”  
  
“A Kilidj, its become all the rage in the Chowat. I’ll show you the real thing later, with the Dauphin’s permission?” She gave me a friendly look. “Your turn next, I think.”  
  
“Me?!”  
  
“Sure, why not? Some instruction with the Dagger is all, you could use some new …tricks…” Her eyes went past me to the boat, where the crew was gathered to settle bets that had been made. Our Marines were laughing and jostling each other on top of the boat, some standing up there, flush with victory as if they had taken part in it. I looked in time to see Jharroque finish saying something to another Marine. They both laughed wickedly and looked at Phaing, and looked away quickly as if they had been caught doing something naughty.  
  
“Yew ignorant, arrogant DOG!” The low, furious tone of Phaing’s voice cut through the crowd without the benefit of obscenities or any threatening moves. Her body had gone rigid, and her face was stony, the smile gone without a trace.  
  
Being called a Dog was a special insult among seafaring folk, and the raucous gathering went silent. Jharroque went still, eyes locked on Phaing, but he made an effort to play it off. “Whatever do you mean?”  
  
I had no idea myself, there was no way she could have heard anything while they were all talking among themselves.  
  
“I read _lips_ , you nasty little prick! YOU, _you_ are next, and bring your friends. ALL of them!”  
  
I had no intention of allowing that, and neither did Imriel, who was holding his hand up to block Phaing and tried to catch Jharroque’s eye as the Marine stepped down from the boat and took 3 steps closer. He continued to stare at Phaing. “And the stakes?” he asked insolently, and stepped squarely into her trap. Jharroque should have looked to us, anyone, for a little guidance at that point. He failed to do so either because he was too angry, or too proud. Both, mayhap.  
  
“Once I knock all 9 of you down, you stop treating my people like slaves, and you learn from them about how to handle this ship properly!”  
  
“More realistically speaking, once we knock _you_ down…?”  
  
“Well in that case, I guess you’ll get to see if you really can get your whole hand up my ‘ _weird little snatch, and make her dance around like a puppet_ ’, right?”  
  
Jharroque went pale as she quoted his words back to him, and had nothing to say for far too long to deny any of it. He would not meet our eyes now, he couldn’t.  
  
Imriel dropped his hands and I stepped back. By D’Angeline standards, what he has said was perilously close to blasphemy, skirting a line that good men should never even approach. He had done it in our presence, and interrupted the delicate process of finding a way to relate to Phaing. He had been in a good position; traveling with us and proving competent, he could have shown himself worthy to accompany us back to the City of Elua, and come into a position of great trust among the heirs to the throne. That wasn’t going to happen now, and he must have known it.  
  
“By your leave?” He asked, and interpreted the first twitch I made as assent. Jharroque turned and marched back to his men, ordering them to gather what they could make use of from the chest.  
  
For her part, Phaing barked out; “Evike’! My Flynde Branch and bracers.” The young woman scrambled into the cabin, and as Imriel and I turned to her, Phaing said; “This is going to happen.”  
  
“Aren’t you tired?”  
  
“ _Was_ , not now. What he said… its extremely unpleasant. I’ll beat the notion out of his head lest he ever think about doing it to anyone for real.”  
  
Whatever Imriel was going to say died on his lips. We could not punish Jharroque for what he had said, it was said among his rough & ready men and not meant to be overheard, even if it was inevitable that it would have made its way to our ears, eventually. Letting Phaing have at them was the closest we could come to chastising them. Yet, she had just lost against 2, what could she do against 9?  
  
When Evike’ returned, Joscelin and Phedre insisted on inspecting what she had brought.  
  
The bracers were leather wraps that Phaing wore like Vambraces. Phedre pocked a finger through a hole in one of them, they were the very ones that Phaing had been wearing that night in Kyrnos. Lighter and easier to wear than a sheet of steel, they had steel rods sewn into them, little bars that would deflect a slashing sword… and, ironically, useless against a carelessly thrown dagger. She passed them to Phaing, who used her teeth and one free hand to tighten them around her fore-arms.  
  
Joscelin was puzzled by what Phaing had called the Flynde Branch. It looked like a staff broken into three mismatched lengths held together with bits of chain. None of the sections were the same length, or the same kind of wood. The center section was a rich, red wood as long Phaing’s arm that was checkered in places for a better grip. At one end was a shorter section of purple-black wood that tapered, the tip was twice as thick as the end joined by chain to the red section, and this was the section most heavily scarred by use. At the other end was a section that was slightly longer than the center section, the pale yellow wood striped with dark grain. The chain joining the longer sections seemed to have fewer links than the one at the other end.  
  
What puzzled Joscelin was that his inspection revealed nothing hidden. “Its just wood.”  
  
“Yes, and I wasn’t holding back with you and Imriel. To gain and edge, something exotic is all I have left. No matter how close they were watching me, they ain’t gonna see _this_ coming.”  
  
Whether she intended it or not, she reminded Joscelin and the rest of us of how his left arm had been shattered, many years ago. His opponent was no more skilled than Joscelin, but he had been armed with a weapon that the Queen’s Champion had never faced before. He handed the mismatched collection of sticks and chain to Phaing and said; “Please try to avoid getting your brains bashed out. Our conversations have been illuminating, to say the least.”  
  
Phedre did not approve of what was going on in the least, but said nothing. She turned and walked up the staircase to the poop-deck, where Phaing’s crew was gathering. This time, standing behind the boat just didn’t seem safe enough to them, and it was prudent to follow their example.  
  
Before I followed everyone, I looked at Phaing. She stood their glaring at the Marines, who were in a huddle a few yards away, plotting. She held her weapon folded in one hand, stroking the wood with the other, and drew in 3 deep breaths, holding the last one.  
  
On impulse, I seized her chin and pulled her face around, and kissed her full on the lips. Her surprise made it all the sweeter, but when she returned it she made my head spin. Her tongue never even went past my lips, but she did use it to sweep over them, a quick double-swish that left my lips buzzing and made me stand on my toes. She smiled into the kiss and as we parted. I could see the question in her bemused eyes before she asked “ _why_?”  
  
“To remind you that we are all on the same side.” I whispered, and leaned on Imriel as he led me away.  
  
The Marines were still in that huddle and Joscelin had not made it up the stairs yet when that kiss had happened, but Phaing’s crew were giving me curious looks that were anything but hostile when we joined them on the raised deck. Phedre ducked her head and favored me with a kindly smile. Even more gratifying, Phaing stopped short as she went to meet the Marines, the full meaning of my words dawning on her at last. She smiled again, and nodded as her eyes flickered away from the Marines and back to me for just an instant.  
  
_Yes_ , I thought at her, you brought some strange monster among us, but I for one want to hear you out because I don’t believe that you did it for any evil reason, or even a stupid one… and _I want to help you_.  
Not that it made a bit of sense at the time, but there it was.  
  
Phaing found herself facing eight Marines, not nine. “What now, ya’ didn’t think I could count, so ya' sent one to sneak ‘round on my ass?”  
  
“Is that really an accent?” Imriel asked Phedre, softly.

She answered; “I’m starting to wonder if it’s a lack, of interest _in_ or any aptitude _for_ , speaking properly.”  
  
I shushed them both impatiently, Jharroque was answering Phaing; “One of the boys didn’t think this such a splendid idea, so I sent him up to take a turn in the Crow’s nest. There ought to be someone on watch while we are having our fun, don’t you think?”  
  
“Oh? Ah’m thinkin’ that’ll be the last order you be givin’, concernin’ the runnin’ of _mah_ ship!”  
  
Whatever it was, her speech defect became more pronounced when her blood was up.  
  
“And, the rules?”  
  
“Rules?” Phaing shrugged. “Huh, alright, I won’t keep hurting you if’n y’all leave the fight once you lost yer’ weapon, or git' knocked down to the deck. Good 'nough?”  
  
The Marines had paired up, and surrounded her at a respectable distance while she sauntered up amongst them, unconcerned. She even blew out a breath that made her lips flap like those of a horse, facing Jharroque from a little less than 3 yards away. He raised his weapon high in mock salute. “”Good enough. Marines! Atta-“  
  
Whack- _thw_ -WHACK!  
  
It was just that quick.  
  
Phaing lunged forward and flicked the Flynde Branch out at full extension. All 3 bars were out in a straight line when the blunt end of the black bar impacted on Jharroque’s stomach hard enough to send him reeling back, coughing and stumbling. Phaing used the recoil to send the weapon’s black end right back over her shoulder to thump one of the men behind her over the head, verifying his position with barely a glance. That Marine bellowed and clutched at his head, losing his grip on his weapon and thus exiting the fight.  
  
Phaing let her Branch go limp, and dragged it back towards her as the Marines took a step back, a little shocked. Jharroque had retained his weapon, but he could not speak yet. One of his men shouted “No, get in closer so she can’t do that!” Jharroque shook his head and tried to gasp out a counter-order, none of them noticed.  
  
What followed spanned a fraction of the time the earlier duel had. Closing in was a bad idea, I saw that only three men could attack one person at a time if they had short weapons in their hands, and most of them had short swords like the Cutlass favored by nautical fighters. The Marines plan, whatever it may have been, was already falling apart before they moved in; two men had been deprived of their partners right at the start. Phaing saw them coming in, and when she started moving her odd weapon again, it didn’t stop whirling until the match was almost over.  
  
In the previous duel, it had been very quiet except for a couple of spoken words between Imriel and Jocelyn., eerily quiet compared to this match. Phaing cut loose with a startling series of shrieks as she fended off the first three stabs and slashes at her. The Marines were only slightly distracted by that, but a slight edge was all she needed. The weapon not only moved blindingly fast, but she shifted the collection of sticks around her body so swiftly that is was hard to follow the fight at all, even from my vantage point. She disarmed two men right away, using the long yellow end… I think. They staggered back, clutching their wrists and getting in the way of the men trying to take their turn at her. The third man had missed her completely at first and his backstroke smacked her across the buttocks with a resounding clap that made me think of a maid beating on a hanging carpet. Phaing screeched and spun into him, tangling his weapon in the long chain at the black end and smiting him with raps to either side of his head with the yellow end. The maneuver only worked because she was so much shorter than he was. Even so, I saw loose strands of her own hair ruffled by the passage of the stick.  
  
Before the odds of 3-1 could be re-asserted, she shouted again and exited the trap with a leap and a tumble, and turned to face them. Her stance was wide and low to the ground, right foot forward with just the heel on the deck, her left foot turned outwards and directly under her hips. She kept the sticks moving and close to her body, whipping them around her waist over even her throat as she awaited the next attack.  
  
During the brief pause, I glanced around at the people around me. There was no cheering during this match. Imriel had an ear cocked to Joscelin as he commented on the finer points of the action in a hushed voice. Phedre also listened, gripping the rail tightly and watching Phaing with an intense gaze. Even Phaing’s own crew made little noise, and I saw why. With one eye on the fighting, they were gathering up buckets of water, bandages and everything else they would need to provide aid to the injured. It was enough to tend 10 hurting bodies.  
They had known what to expect.  
  
Jharroque re-entered the fight just in time to call the Marines back. If he had been mad before, he was furious now. A third of a minute into the fight and his force had been reduced by half. He restrained his men from making a headlong rush. He paired off the remaining men, taking the shorter one for himself, and started issuing new orders in a low voice, turned away from Phaing with one hand prudently over his mouth.  
  
Phaing rushed them before Jharroque had a chance to tell his men much of anything. Her long-strike caught a Marine that was shouting a warning to Jharroque under his armpit, and he fell back onto the deck rolling and groaning. Later that day, he told me that being hit by the Flynde Branch hurt so badly that it felt like being stung by a Wasp the size of a Crow.  
  
Jharroque cursed and back-peddled as Phaing dashed into the middle of them, sticks spinning and a wild pattern. He tried to come in from her side, but she twisted and jerked about like a marionette held by a man having a seizure. ” _YOH_! _HAK_!” One Marine’s sword was caught in the chains and torn from his grasp, and he backed away with hands held up high.  
  
That was when things started to go wrong for Phaing.  
  
The remaining Marine struck her thigh with the blunted edge of his wooden cutlass, and Jharroque accepted a hit to his left shoulder on order to score one on her back. As it worked out, he got two hits; his blade skidded off her shoulder and struck her rump in the same place she had been hit earlier, this time a slash with the narrow side of the blade. Phaing was so pained by the blow that she lost her concentration, and I saw the yellow end of her own weapon smack her across the ear. She staggered, and went to one knee, shaking her head weakly, shoulders hunched.  
  
Jharroque managed what no one else had, and remained standing with weapon in hand after two hits from the Flynde Branch. He swayed on his feet and looked down at Phaing, feeling victorious yet cautious. His remaining companion was also wary, and had taken a step back, looking to Jharroque. His Lieutenant nodded at him. “Yes, good lad, we’ll finish this together.” To Phaing, he said; “Lady, I never had any intention of collecting on that wager. Now, it is finished, yes?”  
  
Phaing’s answer was to shake herself like a wet dog, and her right arm came straight up, holding the center of the red section of the staff. Still on her knees, she shook it at them, glaring at Jharroque.  
  
“Now _that_ ,” Phedre said aloud, but quietly, “is completely unnecessary.”  
  
Jharroque thought so as well. He hesitated, and then said “Very well. Try not to break her bones, Henri.” They stepped in together, swords high, and brought them down angled at her arms.  
  
Phaing raised her left arm and caught the blow on her forearm. Jharroque had forgotten about her bracers. I think we all had.  
  
At the same time, she wrapped the black end of her branch around Henri’s weapon, and with a flick of her wrist, brought the yellow end down on his hand. She wrenched the sword out of his grip and started to rise. Jharroque cursed and brought his blade down in a chopping motion. Phaing already had both hands on her Branch, and held tight to it as she slowly fought her way to her feet. Grinding her teeth and covered with sweat, she parried his slashes and soon set the ends of the Branch spinning again.  
  
Jharroque had reached his limit. He stepped back and touched his blade to one of the spinning ends, and let the wooden sword fall from his hand. “Enough! I yield.”  
  
Phaing did not press him, and I let go a breath that I did not realize that I had been holding. She blinked at him twice, and glanced around to make sure it was really over. The ship was deathly quiet until the sound of measured clapping came from overhead to break the sudden silence, from the Marine in the Crow’s Nest. We all joined in, even the Marines nursing bruised limbs on the deck, but it did not last for long. Our cheering reached Phaing, letting her pain- fogged mind know that it was done. She dropped her weapon and fell to her hands and knees, groaning harshly.  
  
Heedless of the score of people looking straight at her, Phaing’s right hand came around to clutch her own buttocks. “ _Son_  of a  _fucking_  bitch!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a look at what an expert with the 3-section staff is capable of here is a clip that, while I wish it was of a better quality, is the best example I could find.  
> 10-25 seconds in are the best part, and 35-45 as well. Can you spot where she clipped herself?
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=75ZzQpYigRQ


	8. 21

 

 

 The most badly injured were Jharroque and Phaing herself, naturally. Even the man who’s temples had been rapped recovered without any complications, the blows more stunning than harmful. Imriel shot me a grateful smile, he had overheard my words after my kiss with Phaing. She had remembered, and pulled her blows, willing herself not to sink into the red rage of battle-lust. I smiled back, feeling a moment of triumph myself, as well as no small amount of relief.  
  
Phaing lay face-down on the deck while Evike’ and Phedre tended to her abused buttocks. I winced at the sight, in the midst of a purple bruise stood a raised row of red blood-blisters. Her ear looked worse, discolored and swelling as I watched, a thin trickle of blood leaking down her neck. Her little fists drummed the deck as a healing salve was applied to both places, and hit the deck harder when her skirt was pulled back down. “I prescribe a restful day for you, and I think the pillow-pit is the only place you will be comfortable since you will have to lay on your front the whole while.” Phaing grunted and shut her eyes tight, but nodded. Phedre added one question; “Why?”  
  
“Why _what_?”  
  
“Why did you continue, pushing yourself like that?”  
  
“Never lose 2 fights in one day, it gives people the wrong idea.”  
  
I crouched next to Phaing and shook my head. “Elua’s grace, you really _are_ the world’s worst liar!”  
  
Phaing groaned into the Deck again. “Leave it to an aristocrat to say that like it’s a _bad_ thing.”

 

 

***

  
  
We carried Phaing back to the pillow room, and removed the skirt that she was finding so irritating. She also removed her brief top, which was dripping with sweat. Phedre and I did all we could to make her comfortable, as Phaing did not seem to be the sort of person that would be a good, restful patient. She surprised us by silently enduring a sponge-bath, raising herself up on all fours just before we could ask her to. Phedre arranged the pillows carefully while I finished cleaning and drying the underside of her compact body. I lingered at Phaing’s face, tilting her chin up so she could see my smile. “My sister tells me that in Alba, they have a saying that translates this way; Bloody good show!”  
  
“Thank you.” She rested her face in my hand until Phedre was satisfied with her arrangement and had Phaing lower herself down. “I’m not that bad off, you know. And there is no way I’m staying here like this until tomorrow morning!”  
  
“Suit yourself.” Phedre said serenely. “But the sooner you rise, the longer the pain will stay with you. Knocks to the head and bone-deep bruises like the ones you have are very taxing on the body, and can be difficult to heal.”  
  
“Get me some Rum and I’ll nap through the afternoon. After that, no promises.”  
  
I went to get the Rum, and Phedre picked up a blanket. Phaing cringed, but when I returned there was a blanket over her legs and one over her back, leaving her buttocks open to the air. Imriel came in a few steps behind me with the Flynde Branch in hand. He winced at the sight of her ear, it was very ugly by then, and said to me with a wry smile; “Aren’t you glad your turn never came?”  
  
“I wasn’t gonna _spar_ with her!” Phaing reached out and snatched the bottle from my hand. “Just want to show her what to do the next time some asshole holds a knife to her throat.”  
  
That did not sound like the worst way to spend a little time. Phedre abruptly rose and made to leave the room.  
  
“Hey!” Phaing called out to her. “You too; thank you. For, well… you know.”

  
Phedre acknowledged Phaing by pausing and smiling just a little, and bowing her head at just the right angle before leaving. If I live to attain that sort of smooth, perfect grace, I will be a happy woman indeed.  
  
Phaing took three goodly swallows from the bottle and handed it back to me. “That ought to do it. As soon as the pounding in my head eases off, I’ll sleep for hours. I hope.”  
  
“So your ear hurts worse than your backside?” I asked.  
  
“The ear itself? No, hardly at all. Relax, its not a bad sign, been like that forever. Back in Fangore it became fashionable to hate Elves for a while. I had to pin my ears back with little iron hooks and cover them with my hair. Got infected, ain’t had much feeling there since.”  
  
“Oh.” Was all I could think to say.  
  
Imriel sat at opposite her, hands working over her weapon. “I think I understand the coloring of the different sticks, its so the user can keep track of which end is which. Yes?”  
  
Phaing put her head down, the side with the swollen ear up away from the pillow. “Yup, the different grips help too. You are wondering why I didn’t use it on you and Joscelin.”  
  
“Now that you mention it, I am indeed.”  
  
“Because it’s a damn _Jackass_ of a weapon to use. Anything else, sword, spear, bow, they do just what your hands tell them to. That thing in your hands has a mind of it’s own half the time. I figured I needed more control against you, something like a Thoroughbred in my hand.”  
  
“You certainly controlled those Marines with a minimum of fuss!” Imriel said while wiping the sticks with an oiled cloth.  
  
“The side of my head would disagree with you.” Her eyes were just slits. “Jharroque wants to come in and apologize now, doesn’t he?”  
  
Imriel did not look up from the sticks he was polishing. “I have no idea. Feri is having him take a turn at the tiller.”  
  
Her head came up off the pillow. “You don’t say? Well, all is right again on the Indiscreet, I reckon.”  
  
“It will be if you heal up properly, that rump of yours is a living work of art.” He said with a grin, trying not to wince again when he looked at it now.  
  
The breath caught in my throat, but Imriel was testing her reactions, still. Her response was even more casual than he could have foreseen. “Oh, yeah, some people have said it’s my best feature.” She put her head down, one eye still open. “But they never say it twice, not where I can hear them.” She yawned and beckoned me to come closer. “I’m going to have to wink or something if I ever call you ‘my nemesis’ again, ain’t I?” I tried to shrug that comment off, but she rapped the bottle in my hand and pointed at it. “This roll isn’t something you are used to, but you can be very… helpful, you know. For a Princess, you do pretty well at taking care of other people. I’m gonna be sleeping like something made of stone fer' a while, so look at the outer frame of that door. There are a couple of red leather straps, you tie them together across the doorway and then close the door for privacy. Tend to your husband, Sidonie. This respite from the Hell I have visited on you isn’t going to last forever.” She yawned again, both eyes staying shut. “If things go bad when we get to… Cytheria….”  
  
Imriel rose and put her weapon back in the Closet. “Yes, I know, the bad guys will have to go through you to get to us, right?” When she didn’t answer, he bent low over her face, and then looked at me. “She really _is_ asleep!”  
  
I nodded and went to the door. “Her injuries aren’t all that serious, unless she cracked that thick skull of hers. In any case, we need to keep her still for a day.” I found the red chords and tied them, and shut the door tight.  
  
“Sidonie?” Imriel looked surprised, and hopeful.  
  
I pulled him into the cushions at the far end of the room from where Phaing was snoring, and I did my best to fulfill his hopes.

 

 

An hour later, I lay atop him, his shrinking phallus still trapped inside me. We had not just melded, we seemed to have _melted_ into each other this time. The only flaw in this cabin was the lack of air, and we had both been sweating so much that we lay in a puddle of our own making. Hugging him to make every inch of contact my body could, my skin was still so slick that it required some effort to avoid slipping off him when the ship rocked.

  
“I’m afraid we may have to avail ourselves of the local method of bathing.” I whispered into his ear, cheek to cheek with him.  
  
“True. Or we could use a wet sponge, but somehow I managed to avoid getting hurt today.” I giggled and nipped his chin. “Ow! What happened to ‘tend your Husband’?” I felt him glance at Phaing. “Still dead to the world. I think it was more the exertion that did her in, if not the stress. Its possible she may not have relaxed like that since Carthage.”  
  
“What shall we do when she wakes up, sit on her to make sure she stays down?”  
  
He laughed silently under me, hard muscles playing along my flushed skin. Then his voice turned serious. “Sidonie, I can’t be sure of this, but I believe there is great danger in loving that one.”  
  
I raised my head slightly and nuzzled his lips, our noses rubbing together. “You know, it occurs to me that I have heard those words before.” Denying anything true with Imriel would have been ludicrous, of course. Pointless, as well. I myself was a little surprised, however, hearing it said aloud like that. “Love?”  
  
“Well, I’m not the one that kissed her!” Imriel whispered with more than a trace of amusement. “Yes, I know why you did it, and every Marine here should thank you on bended knee for that, every chance they get. However, you have out-done Phedre in gaining some sort of rapport with Phaing.” He was no more jealous of me than I would have been of him, there was even a bit of awe in his voice. That was interesting… I had not set out to surpass Phedre. I had not intentionally had any thoughts of manipulating my little nemesis since her story had started to come tumbling out.  
  
The meaning of that made my eyes light up with a new insight, and Imriel nodded as I spoke; “Phedre is not going to be able to get through to her at any deeper level, is she?”  
  
“No. Joscelin and I spoke while you were tending her. Phaing senses every attempt that Phedre makes to get under her skin. The annoying part is that she appears to go along with it, but its only been temporary every time, Phaing will twist the other way as soon as she can.”  
  
“As anyone raised as a slave _would_.” I thought for a moment, not moving a muscle. We had to get moving soon, someone else on the ship was bound to be needing access to this room before long, and Phedre would want to check on Phaing. “I have no intention of gaining her trust in order to manipulate her.”  
  
“Which is why you will succeed where Phedre has not.” His eyes flickered. “There is rather a lot at stake, isn’t there?”  
  
I felt an unaccountable chill, and released his phallus. “Yes.” I sighed, “but for whom?”

 

 

***

  
  
The afternoon passed peacefully as the normal routine of the ship reasserted itself. The sparring had taken place at midday when the shifts were changing, and the full crew was present. That would not take place again until Dinner time, and the deck seemed partly deserted. Our Marines were up in the rigging most of the time, learning to trim triangular sails. There were not enough hands available to rig up what Imriel had called 'the local method', so we made so with the sponge and a couple of buckets down in the hold. Phaing remained stubbornly unconscious through the evening meal, and Phedre fretted over her, taking her pulse and replacing the salves.  
  
“At least she seems to be healing well, more quickly than I could have hoped.” I thought of what she had told us about her rings, and reminded Phedre of them. “Yes, but…” She sat next to the dark Alfar’s head and undid the bun holding her hair in place. “… how is it possible? Half a Millennium old and she looks so young. Ahmm…. when her eyes are closed, I should say.”  
  
We exchanged knowing, rueful smiles. Those eyes, when open, held little incentive to live such a long life. I don’t suppose the previous Master of the Straights had been, either, from all that I had heard. He had been described as grim and miserable, and Phaing’s eyes were by turns haunted, wistful or murderous. At least we knew why she was like that, now.

  
We _though_ t we did...  


 

 

Our little respite was a good one, until night fell. Merrin’s shadow cast a pall over everything as this little ship sliced through the ocean on its way to Cytheria, and towards another pitfall; Melisande. Would there be enough to distract her from exploiting the hold she had over Phedre? Away from Joscelin, Imriel brooded over this as only he can brood, so I reminded him of what a strangeness Phaing represented, her personality alone would be enough to set a whole city on its ear. Moreover, there was me, the daughter-in-law she had never met, and Imriel of course. I counted the later as the most important encounter of all. They had spent so little time together, just a couple of days when last he was here, and that had been their longest encounter since he was just months old. Surely, his mother would be yearning to hear more about his life, especially his adventures as an adult.  
  
“Ah, no.” He shook his head with a tiny smile at me. “She had months to pick at my memories. When I switched selves with her young operative Leander, he remained behind at Cytheria, with her. The effects of that spell were extensive, and until the moment you kissed me in New Carthage, he... _I_ , was at her disposal. I doubt she will be curious about anything less recent than the last year or so.”  
  
“Plenty to talk about in that regard.”  
  
He nodded, eyes narrow. “Yes, and we should be prepared to tell it ourselves. Just in case Phedre is… distracted in some way.”  
  
“Why not put Joscelin to it? He’s heard everything, and by all accounts he makes a fine storyteller when given the chance.”  
  
“Sidonie, that may be the best idea I have heard all day.”  
  
We had left the skylight open minus the silly little muslin sheet, and the door was now left open as well. Not long after nightfall, Joscelin and Phedre had fallen asleep side by side, seated opposite where Phaing lay. They had saved a jug of water for her, and a plate of dried apricots and some odd little things called pretzels. Once in a while, one of the crew or a Marine would look in the doorway, shrug helplessly, and move on. A rumor was spreading that Phaing had given herself a concussion and was not likely to be well when she woke up, whenever that might be.  
  
Another shadow loomed over our respite, one I found to be the most irksome. What proof of all of these dire things did we have, without her? How could we prove anything she had told us, even to our own people? We were staking a great deal on the veracity of Phaing's stories, memories and interpretation of the situation... and according to Phedre, the _Alfar_ was wrong about something very significant. Imriel was right, getting close to that one was dangerous, in every way imaginable.  
  
Imriel and I were also lounging in a reclining position, at the farther end of the bench Phaing was on. “I would like to know more, about things like her Mother or her world… more that just that one. Imagine her travels, she can tell us about whole _worlds_ Imri!”  
  
“Yes, we would all love to hear about all that, but as interesting as it might be, there is more pressing business at hand. We can take a break from it until Phaing is free of distracting pain. She says that damn Dragon kills Gods, _Gods_ Sidonie! Trepidation indeed… we may have three more days to find out the full truth about Merrin.”  
  
The sudden stop in Phaing’s snoring gave us a little warning, but Imriel still flinched when she suddenly reared up on all fours, gave her head a quick shake and looked around with wide eyes. I didn’t flinch, curiously, now that I think of it. Instead, I whispered; “She wakes up with even more violence than you do when startled, yet she does so without any provocation!”  
  
“That must be inconvenient.” He whispered back, and Imriel had the sense to pass his hand over his mouth while he said it.  
  
“Merrin?” Phiang croaked as she looked around, and then made a different face; “Water, please!”  
  
Imriel and I exchanged a look. _Merrin_ , he had said aloud, her startle was not so unprovoked after all. I pointed to the jug on the bench, and she must have emptied half of it before she put it down. Phaing then scooped up handfuls of apricots ravenously, and drank another third of the jug before asking; “Nighttime?”  
  
“Evening.” Imriel glanced away as the blankets slid off her body. “about halfway between sunset and mid-watch.”  
  
“I have a tale to tell in a couple of hours then.” Phaing remembered her commitment to her crew first. I could not be sure how she came by her distaste for the Nobility, but she would have made a good peer of the realm, by my lights.  
  
“Best we have a look at you first. From the way you are twitching, that hit to the leg is making your leg muscles hurt.” She gave me a sour look, and then nodded. She waved and arm to sweep away blankets that were already on the floor, and then flopped down on the pillows again.  
“Look all you want. I feel much better.”  
  
I turned a lamp up and shielded it so that it would not awaken Joscelin and Phedre. Imriel’s finely tuned fingers washed away what we had put on her ear, and Phaing never winced or caught her breath. Imriel let out a low, soft whistle. “Much better. Not yet back to normal,” Phaing shot him a wry look when he said _normal_ , “but certainly healing quickly, and well.” I glanced at Phaing’s rings as Imriel went to her buttocks and repeated the process.  
  
For her part, Phaing never moved a muscle, nor did she evince anything but boredom and impatience, and perhaps some small measure of gratitude. That later bit was hard to be sure or, her eyes kept wandering to the half-full plate of food.  
  
“The same here, only more so. Sidonie, shine the lamp here please.” The bruise was already fading, when it should have been at its worst, and the welts were nearly gone. He looked my way while asking Phaing; “Your not actually an _anguisette_ , are you?”  
  
“Not in the sense you are thinking. _Heh_ , you know, a fantasy I had once upon a time, to be your step-mother’s last client.” We both recoiled from her, and she sensed that. “No, not to do anything _to_ her. I wanted to experience some of the things that have been done with her, to be at her mercy.”  
  
“I could have lived a long and happy life without knowing that.” Phedre sighed. Before I turned to look at her, I saw the ghost of a wicked little smile on Phaing’s face. I couldn’t tell if it was from Phedre’s comment, or if Phaing had been aware that Phedre had already awakened and was listening to us. “In any event, I’d not take you or any other patron that asked such a thing of me. For me to do such a thing….” She leaned forward and stared hard at Phaing’s profile, “… and why on Earth would someone with your background even consider such a thing? I don’t think you were jesting, not entirely.”  
  
Phaing shrugged, not turning her head fully, just looking over with one eye. “Face your Demons and overcome them, isn’t that what they say? And… _yes_ … there is great pleasure to be had from the most total of surrender, isn’t there?”  
  
“I honestly don’t know what to make of you.”  
  
“Yeah, I get that a lot. I hope it doesn’t make you dislike me too terribly much.” Phaing didn’t bother to wink as her eyes went back to that plate.

Still leaning forward, Phedre looked at Phaing’s ear and buttocks. “Swift recovery indeed. No more salves Imriel, open air will do more good now. Or, would, if she is as close to human as she looks.”  
  
“Fine, I have things to do tonight.” Phaing said around a mouthful of food.

  
Phedre looked at Phaing’s leg as she reached for pretzels and nodded to Imriel. He put his hand on the Alfar’s thigh and gave it a light squeeze. Phaing sucked in a sudden gasp, eyes wide, and slapped her hand down on the plate.  
  
I half rose, and nearly said something I would have regretted later, but Imriel had already let go and Phedre was nodding gently. “It appears that the least noticeable of your injuries went deepest. The bone itself may be bruised, and you certainly wrenched some muscles when you rose to face down Jharroque. If you try walking around now you will be limping when you step off this ship at Cytheria.”  
  
“I think you are exaggerating.” Phaing retorted.  
  
“And I think you have been so overly reliant on your magics that you have never learned much about letting your own body heal in its own way. Yes?” Phaing did not answer Phedre. “Very well, what will it take to make you remain on those pillows for the rest of the night?”  
  
She rolled her eyes, but I could see Phaing was thinking. ”A good massage might do the trick.”  
  
“I am pleased to hear it.” Phedre stood, and for a moment, I thought she really would take care of it herself. Instead she tilted her head to Imriel and myself and said. “Highnesses, I leave you too it.” She turned to wake Joscelin, who had slept through it all. At a touch, he woke smoothly, and with a calm expression than was in contrast with the way his hands went to the hilts of his daggers. “Hello dear. Would you mind coming out with me to gaze upon the stars?”  
  
He smiled up at her. “Its something I have been looking forward to doing with you for some time, my love.” And with only three hours rest behind them, they left the room. Joscelin had barely noticed Phaing, he was speaking of a Hammock he had seen rigged up at the aft end of the deck when they exited the room, closing the door behind them.  
  
If I was speechless at Phedre’s decision, what Phaing said next floored me. “I thought they’d never leave. Go easy on the leg, would you, Imriel? She was right about that part, I think I have a charlie-horse or sumthin’.”  
  
“But… I’m sure…” Imriel stammered.  
  
“…Phedre could do a better job.” I finished for him.  
  
“Yeah, me too. But since she would rather not, it falls to you. Either that or I go for a stroll, and take my turn on watch." Neither of us moved. "Oh, _please_ , I’ll tell you what to do if that helps? C’mon, I don’t bite, people… much. And I will owe you one in return.”  
  
We were both in intrigued, what sort of massage would a 500 year-old former pleasure-slave be capable of? I admit, her coolly stated preference for Phedre’s ministrations had piqued my pride. Imriel was also quick to respond, likely to deflect her interest in his step-mother.  
  
We did not stint when it came to putting our hands to giving Phaing pleasure with our hands once committed. We are d’Angeline, what more need be said?


	9. 22

  
  
Phaing pulled her hair into what she called a pony-tail to keep in out of the way, and took some more food and water before we found some oil and crouched over her, Imriel over her legs and I at her shoulders. It was not just her small size that made her seem nearly child-like, her skin was so smooth and free of any sort of blemish that it was hard to believe her claims about her age and experiences. However, underneath that she was a tightly-wound bundle of nerves. Her wiry muscles were barely apparent visually, my fingertips encountered tendons strung as taut at the rigging over our heads. I probed gently until Phaing urged me to go harder. Imriel needed a little coaching also, she sighed in appreciation as he worked on her uninjured leg, and lifted it to shake it out.  
  
I did the same thing for her arms, watching Imriel work. He went slowly with her hurt leg, going lightly and repetitively around the deep bruise. With Phaing’s verbal guidance, he was very effective, she even gave it an experimental flex and nodded her satisfaction. She seemed to have forgotten about me, even as I returned to her shoulders. I took that as a sign that all was going well at my end.  
  
Imriel was next confronted with Phaing’s buttocks. The largest muscle-mass on any body, her’s was complicated by being half-healed. “Go lightly” was all she offered him. As I worked my way down her back, all she had for me was a petting hand on my knee. “Such nice hands you have, both of you. Thank you for this.”  
  
Tiny winces made Imriel bypass much of what would be considered a good massage, and our hands met at the small of her back. I smiled at him, we had done well. Phaing’s breathing was relaxed and measured, and her body was much more pliable than when we had started. Having received many massages, but given few in return, I was especially proud of how I had done… until Phaing let out a startled gasp and brought her head up.  
  
“The clothes! Damnit all, I never got you and Phedre set up right! For here, and when you get to Cytheria you will need something impressive.”  
  
After all that we had done…. I saw Imriel raise a hand and nearly bring it down on Phaing’s rump. It would have been no less than she deserved, startling us like that over such a minor thing. She had also managed to undo much of the relaxation we had pressed into her high-strung body. Imriel checked his hand inches from her and sat back, shrugging helplessly at me.

  
I sighed as well, and slid to the cushioned floor, where I could stare her in the eyes. “I hardly think any of your clothes would fit us, not without a seamstress and a good deal of extra cloth. Leave it for tomorrow, _yes,_ tomorrow. Now, flip over so that we can attend to the front half of you.”  
  
“Yes _ma-am_.” She slid up along the cushions to the gap that Phedre had thoughtfully arranged in the bed of pillows for Phaing’s breasts, now lowering her aching buttocks there. Her eyes were barely open as she rolled over without displacing any of the pillows. It struck me then, that she must be a very disciplined sleeper, she had barely moved at all since we had bedded her down at mid-day.  
  
One look at her torso recumbent on the pillows made me get up and go to the door… only to discover that Phedre had tied the red cords together on her way out. I decided to have a little talk with her on the morrow, but for now I simply went back and pulled the muslin sheet back in place under the skylight. I need not have bothered with that. Anyone daring to look into that skylight would have been visible to the helmsman, the watch, and now to Phedre and Jocelyn on the aft platform.  
  
Imriel, playing at being something of a coward, had taken my place at Phaing’s head, leaving her lower body to me. They had been talking while I was up and about;  
  
“If I gave this a second thought, I’d be a little embarrassed, about being treated so well by such esteemed folk that-“  
  
“Then please don’t think, Phaing.” Imriel interrupted her, and then made a face. “I don’t like that name, do you Sidonie? No, I didn’t think so, especially knowing it’s a false name.”  
  
She raised her head slightly, “Is that so?”  
  
“Honestly? Yes.” I sat on the bench at her feet.  
  
Our eyes met, two pairs of dark orbs in the dim room. Imriel said nothing while we silently worked towards an understanding. Strange as it may sound, I was not thinking in terms of a sexual encounter with this non-human woman, not yet. Phedre’s withdrawal and Imriel’s hesitation served to remind me that she was the only one of her kind in the whole world. Lonely? How crushingly tiny and insignificant she must have felt, as I would in her place.  
  
And yet, here she lay, bare and defenseless between two people who were still clothed and had four Daggers on our persons, in total.  
  
“Yes.” Phaing said at last, and after another moment; “Yes. I know you are brimming with questions, perhaps desires too. So, I say yes to everything tonight. But I am afraid that is the one and only answer I have for you until tomorrow.” She arched a brow and grinned a little, the tip of her tongue poking out past her lips. “As for that other thing, perhaps you can pry it from my lips, it all depends on your determination.”  
  
Blessed Naamah, at that moment I suddenly wanted to devour her alive! She taunted me with her eyes to do so , but Imriel was there as well. He was smiling, and I nearly melted to see how he was smiling. His lips silently formed just one word; _patience_.  
  
“Oh, I am sure you will find us very determined, and patient.” That was a little trick of our own; repeating back a word passed in secret, woven into anther sentence just to make sure we had gotten it right. I began stroking her calves, which had already been tended to. All I was really doing at that point was running my fingernails up and down her hairless skin. Skin with no hair simply cannot be rubbed the wrong way, I found. She merely sighed contentedly, until Imriel began to massage her face.  
  
“Ah, you know this part, too?” Phaing purred. The face has many muscles that can be full of tension, tiny and delicate ones that lay close to the mind we were attempting to sooth. Phaing knew this , but it had been a very long time since she had met anyone else that knew this as well as she did. I walked my fingers up her thighs, and stroked back down again until her legs parted on their own just slightly. I was pleased to see her legs roll outwards like that, and being patient, I did not delve into that tempting cleft just yet. I was still learning her body, and my hands worked her outer hips and then the tender joint where leg meets hip. I leaned in and nuzzled her belly-button, at the center of that impossibly slender waist. In response, her tummy went drum-tight and started to vibrate just a little.  
  
I wondered at her small size again, if she was a foot taller she would have been proportioned in a way that would have been called statuesque. As it was, she was neither buxom, nor willowy in the way storybook Elves had been described. What we were seeing, and touching, was partly the result of the chronic malnutrition Phaing had endured during her childhood. She had failed to grow tall, yet during puberty her body had compensated by growing curvy. Her breasts were a healthy size in relation to the rest of her proportions visually, in reality just slightly too large for Imriel to cup one fully in his hand. I looked up to see him doing just that as I let the front of my wool tunic touch her lightly.  
  
Once the back of a body has been fully tended to, there is not a great deal of technical massage left to do on the front of someone. Imriel had been taking care of her underarms and the sides of her chest, but when he saw me lean in, his hands had slipped over her lovely breasts and begun to caress her there. Phaing, head back and breathing deep now, bit her lip and whined softly.  
  
“She must be very sensitive there.”  
  
“yes” barely enough of a whisper to be heard, “damnit.” Her nipples awakened in an interesting way. Her aureole puffed up and turned a brighter shade of red until they resembled strawberries. The tips were even more sensitive now, and Imriel was having fun exploiting that. I think that he might have been able to bring her to a climax from that alone, given time. I wasn’t going to be a mere spectator, however, and her tantalizing scent was reaching me. Little beads of moisture were visible on her cleft, and I kissed her there. I pulled back, licking my lips. I must have had a strange expression look on my face, because Imriel stopped what he was doing and leaned in closer to look at me. Phaing could not see me, but I did feel her stiffen, wary of a reaction she must be familiar with. I ignored them both and went back to delve more deeply, using my fingers to part her perfectly smooth sex and have myself a little feast. Thanks to Amarante and one other, I thought I knew the taste of a woman, but this _Alfar_ never ceased to amaze me. She was like wildflowers and candy, and once I had myself a good taste, I reared up and pulled Imriel in for a kiss to share it with him.  
  
“Butterscotch?!” He was even more surprised than I was, and he leaned in for a taste straight more the source. “Well…. isn’t that the damnedest thing.”  
  
“I think y’all are nuts,” Phaing moaned. “Nobody really tastes like that.”  
  
Imriel lifted her head slightly as he went back to her upper half, to give her a kiss to prove the point. I caught a glimpse of her smiling, as if to say *yeah, like nobody ever tried _that_ before* but she accepted his kiss. More than accepted, and I smiled to think of what Imriel’s first kiss with her was going to be like. Whatever oddity it was in her body chemistry that caused her to taste that way, she never believed us or anyone else, she could not taste the difference in herself, not that she was ever shy about trying!  
  
I went back her labia, which I made bloom like a red orchid. _Responsive_ , that was the word that described her best now. She hid nothing of her reactions to what we were doing to her, but let them right out in a natural display of passion that any adept of the Night Court would have been thrilled to exploit. I did no less, intending to exhaust her and drive any thought of leaving her bedding tonight clear out of her mind. In this, I was very successful. Three times, we brought her to a good peak, and the third time I pounced on Naamah’s pearl. and did not let go until a fourth orgasm rode the wave of her after-shocks right in, and left her wracked with the aftermath of her passions. By the time we had wrung her out, Imriel had kept one arm around Phaing’s shoulders. The hand of the other arm stroked and petted one breast, his mouth was on the other. His eyes flickered between Phaing’s face and my own as we choreographed our attentions on Phaing’s marvelous body.  
  
To say we had the desired effect would be an understatement, even by my lights. We did Naamah and Terre d’Ange as a whole, proud that night.  
For proof, we had her true name. She had been gasping out our names, many times, but she was panting too hard to give us any more of her clever guidance. At last, at Imriel’s urging between peaks, she gave us her name, and lay utterly limp on the pillows, glistening with a light sheen of sweat with a rose-tinted glow to her dark skin.  
  
“Ahh…. When my turn comes, you both are going to think I’m taking you on a guided tour of Paradise.” Sweet words, but they made me wonder just how long it had been since she had been tended to in a gentle fashion. Years, at the very least, and I had a fantastic vision of taking her on a tour of my own, places in the City of Elua where people made a career out of pampering other people.  
  
I whisked away the sweat with one blanket and Imriel covered he with the other. She was asleep again by the time we finished. Just the opposite of a Human, her light, puppy-like snores did not return while she slept on her back. It was a sound sleep, and I took that as proof that Imriel was right; it wasn’t her wounds or the Rum that put her down so firmly in the arms of Morpheus. It was a break from a long vigil, she felt safe with us, the very people she had been running from.  
  
As for my own feelings that night… love? Yes, the sort I had for Amarante, and speaking of her would require a book in and of itself.  
  
Imriel and I were both a little miffed to find that we were still clothed and unsated ourselves, but we swiftly put that to rights. Once again loving each other in the presence of our sleeping, exotic companion.


	10. 23

 

 

 

In the days that followed, our ‘respite’ went on, with grim interruptions as Phaing told us more about Merrin, and how dangerous he was. She kept that to small doses, separated by as much lively and diverting activity as she could manage.

That first morning, I rose before breakfast and hauled Imriel with me up on deck to see what had become of Phedre and her consort. We found them cuddled together in a large Hammock on the aft platform. They looked refreshed and relaxed, and not at all eager to rise. “It’s the best way to sleep at sea that I have ever encountered!” Joscelin said with a buoyant tone. “I wish I had known about this years ago. Love, if you don’t mind, I’d prefer to spend the rest of our nights like this.”

Phedre fully agreed. “It was so sweet. You don’t feel the movement of the ship so terribly much this way. Ah, so many stars above us… and the rest of this whole thing so far away.”

Something even nicer was to follow during our turn at breakfast. Phaing presented herself at the booth wearing a dress that she could have worn to our Palace, and turned a good many heads. It was white, the color that best highlighted her skin color, with red felt panels at the shoulders, on the flowing sleeves and the bodice and down the front. The waist was cinched at the front by crisscrossing gold thread, and bullion had been worked in here and there where there was a scarlet background wide enough for it.

We all paused in mid-bite and stared. Joscelin let out a low whistle, and asked “Who are you, and what have you done with the Phaing we all thought we knew?”

“Seems like you all need to ‘know’ a bit more, yes?” She joined us at the table, seated where she could be the first to rise this time. She seemed nonplussed by the notion of Phedre and Joscelin spending nights on a hammock under the stars. “I didn’t make too much noise last night, did I?”

  
Phedre smiled into her mug of Cider, while Joscelin shrugged, allowing it to appear that he thought she was speaking of her snores.

Once we were done, or nearly so, Phaing stood and smoothed out the pleats in her skirt. “Alright girls, who is ready to try on some new clothes?”  
She did not have to ask twice. I don’t know how Imriel and Joscelin spent the next few hours, sparing perhaps as was their usual morning routine. Phedre and I didn’t look back as we entered the pillow room again.

Phaing had laid out the contents of her closet on the bench down one side of the room, and hung others from the overhead cupboards. The closet was a small one, but it was still an impressive collection. Some items were slowly uncurling and full of wrinkles, things that had been tightly rolled up and stowed away to save space. There were some functional and dreary things, some costumes so brief and tantalizing that I wondered where they could be worn. Worn they had been, and some others were clearly outdoor wear. The bulk of the collection was a selection of dresses of origins I could barely guess at. It was refreshing to find a point of Earthly commonality with Phaing, her taste in clothes was excellent, and rather sophisticated when it came to the dresses. There was a set of shears and spools of thread on one pillow. She pointed out 3 dresses and some furs that we were not to touch, including what she was wearing, the rest was at our disposal. “Get that Lamb-fluff off, ladies! Let’s see what we can make of this, all and get you ready remind everyone who you really are.”

There was not a thing that would fit us without a good deal of alteration, except for a dress that hung loosely on Phaing was made of fabric with some stretch. This was a lovely 2-part wrap that looked like something a Mermaid would wear; sea-foam green at the top leaving the shoulders and arms bare, it faded to white at the middle and the skirt became a rosy shade of pink from the knees down. There were also sea-foam crepe’ embellishments for the hair. It fit Phedre nicely, even if the edge of the skirt was too high above her ankles for her taste. Phaing declared it suitable for ‘casual wear’ and moved on to me. I had taken a liking to a black sheath dress that was elegant in its simplicity, and had a remarkable texture. It was crafted from sealskin that has been scrapped thin from the inside, and somehow cured soft and retaining the short black fur. Made to fit Phaing, it defied my efforts to get it on even part-way.

Phaing took her shears and cut it in two halves, starting at the underarm and all the way down to the very bottom. She then further vandalized it by cutting away the bottom half-inch off the skirt, and punched holes along the cuts she had made from hip to underarms. She used part of the cord she had cut to weave a loose bridge of latticework to hold one side together, and had me put it on before lacing up the other side. Phaing and Phedre had to work together to adjust the sides to fit, and for the gaps on each side to match. When they were done, I was very much aware of the gaps running down each side that left the skin exposed, and wearing underwear of any kind was out of the question in this dress. I nearly shook my head, but they assured me the effect was devastating… when I allowed my arms to move naturally. But to wear such a thing publicly?

“Its hot were we are going. You will appreciate having this for a back-up item, and the locals won’t be so differently attired if my hunches are still any good.” Phedre nodded, and I wished I had been able to see more of Rhodos. I could not remember what I had glimpsed of female attire there.

For more elaborate wear, Phaing let us run amok through her wardrobe. We demolished two of her dresses to make one for Phedre. This one covered her from toes to wrists once we were done with it, a rich shade of blue everywhere but the front. There I sewed panels of a lighter blue with bronze and red paisley brocade. My sewing was faster and better than either of them, and once I convinced them that I could work better alone, they went back to the closet to investigate Phaing’s jewelry. Phedre found nothing that satisfied her, but I watched her pull a complicated set of gold chain up and out that was far too large to be a normal bit of ornamentation.

“This can’t be what I think it is.” Phedre whispered as it took shape in her spreading hands. It was a halter-top made of nothing but a few strands of delicate Gold chain. “ _Eula_ , you weren’t just playing…”

“Why would I? This fits perfectly under several other things I like to wear, and you never know when a few ounces of gold will make for a handy bribe.”

Phedre shook her head. “That’s not what I meant, and this would be too uncomfortable to wear under anything for long. No… this is for special occasions, and special people, isn’t it?”

“Both are true.” Phaing said simply and peeled her dress off, and put the funny little thing on. It did less than nothing to conceal any part of her, the thin chains draping her bosom in a way that emphasized what was revealed. “Yes, I would only wear it this way for someone special.”

“And this?” Phedre pointed to a massive fur cloak that seemed at odds with the rest of her collection.

“Oh no, not that!” She prudently doffed the chains before throwing the cloak about her. It was Sable, and lush. Four Gold pins topped with red gems secured a pair of Gold Chains in place to hold front closed. Phaing closed her eyes and shivered lightly at the feel of it on her skin. “No cutting on this one, this is the prize of my collection.”

“So I see.” Phedre purred as she looked the seamlessly made cloak up and down. She ran the back of her hand over the surface. “Oh, I see indeed! Its perfect, but you won’t be able to wear it long in this climate.”

“’’Fraid not, but I still like having it around. Should really have left it behind, this salt-air isn’t doing it any good.” Phaing removed it and draped it over Phedre’s arms. The _Alfar_ slipped on another dress, and orange/pink example of “casual” dress with a neckline that plunged to her navel, held together with coral clasps.

“Your affinity for we D’Anglines is becoming the least surprising thing about you, Phaing.”

Our hostess nodded and smiled, and said “Strip honey, Sidonie is nearly finished.” When Phedre did so and turned to me, Phaing gasped softly and asked; “May I touch you?”

Phaing’s eyes were fixed on Phedre’s marque, she had never seen it before. Phedre simply nodded and pulled her hair to one side. Phaing seemed to be entranced as she traced the patterns of the Rose and twined thorns. “I have never seen such exactitude and expressiveness combined in skin-art. Fabulous, you almost make me wish I could tolerate this sort of thing being done to me. The artist…?”

“Long dead, I’m afraid. There are others I could recommend.”

Phaing dropped her hands and took a step back. There was no need for her to explain her little shudder, we had both seen her brand. She would never submit to being marked again.

With a few minor adjustments, the dress fit Phedre well, but the square neckline did not permit even a peek of the marque to be revealed. Now it was my turn.

I went straight to the dress that I had been eying since we had started. It was a gown of some peculiar material that was either purple or black, depending on the angle that light was hitting it. A spiderweb pattern in silvery thread lay diagonally across the hips, and 2 bands of white lace crossed over the bodice. Instinctively, I knew that this dress had not been made from material of this world.

I had to have it.

This was the most difficult adjustment. The sleeves had to be sacrificed to provide material for letting the dress out. We made straps to go over my shoulder, and opened the back up until my Sun appeared to be rising in a purple valley. More was needed, there wasn’t enough to cover me adequately for a formal gathering, a lesser dress was taken apart to provide us with yards of lace that was a good match for what was already on this gown. We extended the bodice upwards and the hem of the skirt downwards with the pearly white lace, and came away with something unique. I knew it had the desired effect when we went out to see what our men thought.

It was already mid-morning by the time we emerged and went strolling about the deck. It was shift-change again, and the entire crew paused to look at us. Marines who knew us, and the crew who knew Phaing alike sat back to watch us pass, some slack jawed and others barely able to hide their smiles. It was a tonic effect for us, and the clear approval of Imriel and Joscelin make me smile until my cheeks ached.

Imriel was thrilled. “You could stroll through a place where your mother was holding court, and make everyone there forget she was even in the room.”  
I winked at him. That had been precisely what I had intended.

Phaing diverted the crew from us by gathering them all at the bow and telling them what they were up against. Not the full truth of it, but she did repeat the tale told from Merrin’s point of view. If she had intended to give us time to ourselves, she must have been disappointed, we hovered behind her as she spoke for much of the time. After an hour she had to stop to allow part of the crew bed down and the rest of them to return to the endless work of adjusting the sails. They did look worried and spoke among themselves for the rest of the day, but our mixed bag proved a good thing in this regard. Marines and Sailors competed quietly, seeing who could go about their work with greater aplomb.

Jharroque lingered to make his apology, and we withdrew as he knelt at the very bow of the ship before Phaing. She let him speak for a moment, and then Phaing knelt as well to explain something to him. They had a brief and earnest conversation, and then Phaing sent him on his way with a nod and a half-smile that let us know she was satisfied. He withdrew pale and shaken. He had to pass by us to leave the bow, and he knelt before us rather than pass by. “As Eula is my witness, I had no idea!” He cast a furtive glance back and Phaing, who stood at the very front of the ship facing away from us. “That such a thing could actually be done to a person…”

I touched his shoulder, snapping his gaze back to us. “Lieutenant, please return to your duties. If Phaing’s honor is satisfied, then that is all that matters. Thank you for setting things right.”

There was no great activity that day, and we gleaned precious little from Phaing.

“Oh, enough about me, I want to hear about you folks!” Her curiosity was intense and focused mainly on areas of conflict. Even the moves made in the heat of battle piqued her interest; “You threw your sword at him? But… that _never_ works!”

Joscelin merely spread his hands. “It did that day.”

And later-

“Imriel…. Really, that Tatar fella just tumbled into you, went over and opened the gate, and you did nothing?”

“I was a stranger in a very strange place, all alone! What was I to do, start swinging a sword in a place where I hardly knew friend from foe?” Phaing bit her lip and shrugged, as if that was exactly what she would have done in his place.

“Phaing.” Phedre interrupted the line of questioning. “You know spell-magic, but we have seen very little of it. What sort of things can you do?” She rattled of a list that was impressive in its variety, but nothing earth-shaking until she mentioned Lightning.

“So that _was_ you? Back on Kyrnos!” Joscelin sounded fascinated and a little depressed at the same time.

“I thought you … oh, sorry, it wasn’t your Gods. Just lil’ old me, doing the best I can with what I have.” Phaing looked at Phedre, who had that far-away look again. “Your not actually caring what I say at this point, are you?”

Phedre snapped back into focus. “I think that when we get to Cytheria, it may be best if you present yourself as a Sorceress, and keep your weapons hidden, or leave them behind if you can’t do that reliably.”

“That’s…. backwards. Why would I want to do that?” I understood , and so did our men, but I let Phedre explain it to Phaing.

“Firstly, you are going to approach a scholarly dabbler in magic to ask for help. It would help if you were seen as a fellow student of those arts.” Phaing nodded, and Phedre continued to the more unpleasant path; “Women who fight as you do… they simply don’t exist here. Now, you have spent time on the fringes of civilization, where people are fighting for their lives and would have to accept you as you are. However… in this part of the world, no. Its not like that here, people won’t know what to make of you. A delicately proportioned woman like you can be thought of as a Witch or even a scholar. It would be believable to them. Your skills with weapons is something that most people would find…  offensive, as well as obscene.”

“Ah, I see. Is that why _you_ have started to become offended by me?”

“No! I …. Its not like that! Phaing, please-“ Phedre nearly spluttered, something I had never seen before.

“Enough is enough!” Phaing left us, and spent the rest of the afternoon avoiding us all.

I rounded on Phedre in a way that Imriel or Jocelyn never would have. “Comtess? Look at me, Phedre. What is it? What did you see, what did the Gods let you feel? Why did you tell me that the danger is not working against us this time?”

“Dauphine, please, I beg you, and you too Imriel. Don’t get too close to her.”

  
“Why?” Special relations be damned, if I had to use the full weight of my authority to get to the bottom of this, then I would. Imriel had started to reach out to me, to restrain me by reflex. However, Phedre’s injunction against Phaing put him in exactly the same frame of mind that I was in. He also demanded an answer with his eyes and posture.

Phedre saged back into Joscelin’s protective arms, but there was no escape for here there, not from us. “Oh, Imriel! Didn’t you see it? Merrin, that last image, he’s dying, I suspect that they _both_ are! That is the grace I received from our Gods, the ‘feeling’ as you call it. Whatever happens next, their journey ends here. This is the last world that either of them will ever see.”


	11. Chapter 11

  There was no arguing with the woman that knew the name of God, but I still had to fight down the wildly stupid urge to slap her across the face.  
  
Dinner was quiet and sullen. I had tried to speak with Phaing, and she had climbed the foremast and spent nearly an hour up there to make her point.  
  
It was a pleasant surprise when she entered the pillow-room at last, an hour after sunset. Imriel and I had already bedded down, in a room that seemed cavernous and cold with just ourselves there. She barely looked at us as she made a nest for herself at the far end near her closet. After she turned out the last lamp, she said quietly; “Phedre is right, isn’t she?”

  
I felt a cold stab, but Phaing continued; “More acceptable as a Witch instead of as someone that can defend herself in a brawl? That’s just so unreasonable!” She sighed heavily. “Well, when in Tiberium, eh? Sorry about getting all frosty, but I can’t be the only one that has found that idea to be cripplingly unfair. Alright, alright, I’ll be better tomorrow, my word on it. G’night sweethearts.”  
  
Somehow we made it through that night without disturbing her. It was a surprise to Imriel and myself how attached we had become to her, and not a comfortable one. Phaing was not simply an exotic playmate and a font of interesting ideas now. For me, she was what she herself had thought of the four of us as; someone who had been pushed too hard and was deserving of a happy ending.  
  
The next morning, Phaing was as good as her word. We awoke to her gently rocking our shoulders, and smiling down on us as we blinked. “Breakfast is waiting, what’s left of it. Come join us if you want any.” She rose and shook her head. “You can’t be _that_ tired! Heh, and so quiet! I know you guys are newlyweds, but this must be three times you did that without waking me up. C’mon, get out there, nobody cares what you smell like after a couple of days at sea.”  
  
Once she was out and closed the door behind her, I covered my face with my hand and took a deep breath. Shh had been wrong about how intimate our night had been, which was nothing I felt celebratory about.  
  
“Your not going to be able to face her until you tell her, are you?” Imriel said gently. He would have brought me something to eat and made excuses for me all day if I gave him any reason to. That made my just mad enough at myself to shake it off.  
  
“If I can face a city full of people with their minds turned inside out, I can face this. But, Imri, I _am_ going to have to tell her, someday. I just… I don’t know how.”  
  
   
We found Phaing, Joscelin and Phedre already seated at the booth. Phaing was seated at the other end, her behavior so bright and chipper that she set Phedre at ease, and even Joscelin unbent enough to smile and compliment the food. It was something light and sweet that I have no real memory of, it tasted like nothing at all to me and settled like mud in my stomach. If Phaing noticed anything amiss, she ignored it, determined to be a ray of sunshine today.  
  
“Why do we always end up eating after the crew? Is the best saved for last?” Joscelin asked.  
  
Phaing started nodding, and then shook her head at the later question. “Oh, old Army habbit. Leader stands last in the chow line, makes sure there was enough for everyone. Keeps the cooks from holding out, too.”  
  
“ _What_ Army?” Joscelin asked.  
  
“You eat the same thing as the crew, or your troops? Every time?” Phedre was fascinated, or at least sounded that way.  
  
Phaing looked back and forth, and decided to answer Phedre. “Yes, it has to be that way. For the same reason I just said, and so that the leader can know how far people can go. Just asking ‘how is everyone feeling?’ isn’t enough, is it? You have to _know_.”  
  
I dropped the knife I had been using with a clatter into my dish. Phaing shot me a questioning look, and then she leaned back, nodding, and misunderstanding completely. “Back to Merrin today? Yes, okay, I’m ready to talk your ears off, again. And I think I know where to start. You want me to list his powers, right?”  
  
Phedre dashed off to get her quills and something to write on. Phaing’s eyes went back to Imriel and myself, and noting that we were holding hands under the table, she started to ask a question of her own, until Joscelin said; “The wind shifted last night.”  
  
“Yes, and not in a helpful way either.” Her gaze lingered a moment, and then went to Joscelin. “Straight from behind, not good for a ship like this, so we’ll be doing some tacking today. Not a problem, unless it shifts to something worse. By the by, are you still enjoyng it up there? I keep wanting to bring you more blankets or something.”  
  
“Ah, no, don’t worry about us. This method of sleeping, its actually turning this into one of the most enjoyable voyages I have ever had. Phaing… how do you come by your love for the ocean?”  
  
“Love? I don’t love the seas, but I do like ships. It’s a great way to travel; a mobile house that can carry all the luggage you want, what can be better than that?”  
  
Phedre rejoined us. “Are you really Captain here, then? Pardon the question, but if you don’t like the ocean very much, it would seem to be a strange hat to wear.”  
  
“Your right, Feri is the real Captain here when it comes to running the ship. He was the first to volunteer when he saw what the shipwrights were putting together for me.”  
  
“Your design is impressive, I must admit.”  
  
“Less than you would think. I just took a look at what was being built and made some modifications. Live as long as I have …”  
  
“And you see a few things, yes?” Phedre flashed a smile and set her paper and ink out, ready to write. “So, what can Merrin do?”  
  
The list was terrifying.  
We knew about his ability to see and hear at vast distances, what was called clairaudience and clairvoyance. He could also channel energy such as heat and cold harnlessly away from his body. We knew about his power to mentally dominate people, but we had not known he could do it to a hundred or more people at the same time. He could detect magic such as Phaing’s own, but only at short ranges. Merrin could read minds, and since his youth he had learned to hone his power to read more than just surface thoughts. However, that took time, and the stronger the will of the target the more lengthy the procedure became. He could also reduce his size and change his shape, appearing human if he so desired, or anything else he could imagine.  
  
Even more disturbing was a form of invisibility, until Phaing explained that it wasn’t bending light, it was more of a suggestion that he wasn't really there, broadcast by his mind. Merrin could only fool a score of people at a time that way. In larger crowds, the message became diffused and he could not hide at all. He could bar his mind to the influence of other psychics, they would not even be able to tell there was anything special about him if they looked straight in his eyes. The drawback to that one was that he could not use any of his powers while doing so. And lastly, he had the ability to withstand a hostile environment. Hostile to the point of being instant death to any life we knew of. Phaing told us about what lay between our world and the moon; a void so cold it could freeze flesh solid in seconds, where there was nothing to breath and the rays of the sun were so strong that they would turn your blood to poison. Merrin could withstand such treatment for hours.  
  
“That explains how you happened to spend a few hours in his mouth?” I asked.  
  
“Yeah, hours that felt like years.” She smirked and laughed silently in a way I found inexplicable until she explained. “My eyes were bloodshot and I had the runs for days, but the worst part was that something in there turned my hair green. Green!”  
  
Her humor dimmed when she saw none of us were joining in it. Phedre’s quill had long since stopped moving. “Phaing, if you would-“  
  
“Yer’ wondering what the nature of my comradeship with Merrin was, exactly, yeah? Thought so. Last night I thought of an event that could explain it to you. I have to start with Thal, and since a picture is worth 1,000 words… which I am getting tired of, here; have a look at this.  
Again, she used and illusion to illustrate what she had seen. “Thal.”  
  
I would not have hesitated for a single heartbeat to take Merrin’s side over that of Thal. Merrin the _orator_ , not the insane animal. In the later case, I would have chosen neutrality.  
  
What stood before us was a man-sized shadow of what once had been a man, and I think Phaing kept the image slightly fogged to save us a worse fright. It was an animated skeleton, and the bones were pebbled with something black and glossy, the way a partly burned log is covered with charcoal. The white teeth stood out in sharp, grisly contrast. The eyes were horrid red pinpricks of cold light, I think Phaing toned them down, but I can’t say why I had that idea.  
  
Thankfully, the thing was wearing robes that covered everything save for the face and hands. The robes were of black silk bordered with narrow bands of white, and there were some sort of symbols, letters I think, running along those borders. The hood was squared off in a way I had never seen before, and held in place by a band of gold filigree 2 inches wide. That filigree flared out twice as wide above the forehead in a circular pattern that held what I took to be a huge black pearl. It was a Crown, I realized, the Crown of a King.  
  
The posture was freakishly normal, for a person, or a King. The Litch stood ramrod straight with one hand in a fist, resting on his hip with the elbow cocked out to one side. The other hand, another gruesome collection of blackened bones, was held out ahead of Thal with the index finger extended in a pointing gesture. Not at any of us, Elua be thanked. No, that finger was pointed straight at Phaing.  
  
“Thal of the sea, the Savior of Fangore and Father of High Magic… blah blah fucking _blah_.” She stared straight back at the image with a lifeless face and eyes gone hard. Not as hard as the Litch looking back at her, but I felt a chill when I saw what seemed to be a pang of loss in the Alfar's eyes. It was not long before I understood the reason for it.  
The others had not noticed, they were all riveted by the image. Imriel leaned closer and squinted. “I was expecting rags. His robes, they are immaculate!”  
  
“Yeah, Thal was sort that believed that just because he was undead it was no excuse for becoming a slob.” She stuck her tongue out at Thal, and whispered “Anal bastard, just a bag of bones, and a really bad actor.”  
  
“What are those?” Imriel pointed at a belt that I had barely noticed, made of the same filigree that the crown was, but this looked more elastic. I looked away again, the robes hung as you would expect on a skeleton; loosely and revealing the horrid lack of flesh beneath. The elegant cut of the robes only made it worse.  
  
“Wands, mostly.” Phaing said in a bland tone.“ Various paraphernalia were attached to the belt. “I never did find out what that crystal cube was, and that dagger is for ceremonial sacrifices. Now, look to the Crown. That black orb, that’s a gateway to a singularity. It… alright, it’s something that will annihilate anything that touches it. Not even the dust of a disintegration is left, its just gone. Doesn’t matter if it’s a bug or a thrown boulder or a Giantess with an attitude, its just gone. See the Crown? Its not actually touching it, its hovering there by dint of Thal’s control over it. Most Mages would only use one of those, if they dared, for a few minutes at a time. He, that guy right there, wore is as a bit of ornamentation.”  
  
“And Merrin bested that? _How_?!” Imriel noticed my anxiety without looking, and put an arm around me.  
  
“That’s what I am getting ready to tell you.” She said something low and cold to the image, and then waved a had that must have been part of making it fade away. Before she could finish, Imriel flicked a crust of bread at Thal, and the illusion fell apart. Phaing smiled at him. “Ah, very good. Simple things can defeat certain spells, but try not to make a habit of that. Too many spells being prematurely cancelled in that way will give me a bad headache.”  
  
We all looked at each other, the faith she was putting in us was starting to become unnerving.  
  
Phaing continued on, as blissfully ignorant of the nuances of Human interaction as ever. “Merrin had a good counter to that orb. If it touched him while he was beginning to slip into the overworld, it would go with him and cease to be. Something like that…. nevermind, Thal’s best defense against Merrin was the wards he’d built into the walls around Fangore. It was empty of life by then, just the corpse of a city… perfect for Thal. Our Dragon could never cross that barrier and get in there without major problems and Thal knowing all about it. That didn’t stop the rest of us from trying, the better part of an Army in fact, vs. the Litch and his minions. I went in alone to do some scouting of my own, and somebody blind-sided me. I woke up a little while later, face-down in the alleyway I had been sneaking along, stripped of everything and feeling like I had been hit over the head. My mind was still working right, so I kept going in and soon I found… yes?”  
  
Phedre’s hand was raised. “Excuse me, but this time I’d rather not wait and then forget questions I had about all this later. You said you were stripped, of everything?” Phaing nodded. “And, you kept going, in to _that_ place?” The haunted ruins of the very city that had been such a nightmare for her as a child, and she simply strolled in naked and unarmed. Yes, actually, it did sound like something she would do, and I had to bit my lip to hold back a very inappropriate smile.  
  
“I still had my spells, and most of these rings have been on so long even I can’t get them off anymore. The battle was just picking up and I sure wasn’t going to miss that!” Phedre was staring at her wide-eyed, and she was not the only one. “Look, I had a grudge with Thal too, and he knew who I was by then. I wasn’t some street-punk anymore, and I was expected to be in the thick of it, the troops needed me to be there.”  
  
“Then why were you going in alone?”  
  
“Things had already started going wrong by then, Merrin could not go in, and his far-sight wasn’t working either. I had to do something!" All she had done was add to the reasons for not going on, in our eyes. "Moving along… I was still ahead of the fighting, but I heard something nasty going on in the ruins of this old mansion, it sounded like a rough interrogation so I went dashing in to turn the tables on Thal’s boys. Well, its wasn’t his boys, it was Thal himself, and the captive he was working over on the slave-cross was…. Well, it was me.”  
  
“What? Were you outside your own body?”  
  
“Nope. A trail of my stuff lead to the place where Thal was, I was able to recover some of it, later. The 'me' on the cross, it wasn’t _me_. It was Merrin.” She held up a hand and begged us to wait a moment. “I told you he can shape-shift and make himself nice and small, right? And he thumped me and put on all my gear, from my Kilidj down to my socks, made himself real authentic. But that would not have gotten him past the wards, they were attuned to him personally. So, what he did next was put the screws to his own head. Somehow, he hypnotized himself to make himself believe that he was me.”  
  
Imriel thumped the table. “Himself? How can that even be possible!”  
  
“I know, I know, this is the most fantastical thing I could tell you about Merrin, a transcendental triumph of will, but there is a parallel. I heard something from another world’s version of your Tsingano, Phedre.”  
  
“Oh? I’m all ears.” Phedre gave her a half grin, she could have been making a reference to the _Alfar_ ’s own exotic ears.  
  
Phaing arched an eyebrow at her, and then made those ears of her’s wiggle. I didn’t know she could do that, and the effect was a little comical and vaguely off-putting at the same time. “Well, these Travelers have a way of making a lie seem like the truth; they sit down ahead of time and meditate a little, and convince themselves that the lie is the truth. It works, for a little while.”  
  
“But that's not what he did, what he did to himself had to work well enough to get past an arch-mage’s barriers. Merrin actually made himself think he was you? He ended up getting himself captured, and at Thal's mercy. At best, I would call that a dubious success.”  
  
“In this case, yes, and it may have gone on even longer if I had not come along. I can’t imagine Merrin willingly submitting to what Thal was doing to him, not for an instant. Yes, Thal hated me, and was … it was pretty awful. It was bit of a revelation to see how I looked when I was being… " she shook her head to clear away the vision of her self, strapped to a torture device and being abused. "Anyway, Merrin had a trigger to cancel the effect. It may have been for when I came too close, or when Thal realized what was happening. I can’t say, the 2 were simultaneous." A wicked grin spread over her lips. "Heh heh, and I can tell you, even that skull of a face could show an expression at the end, when he turned to look at me, and his back was to the cross. Thal knew he was doomed, just as Merrin exploded up off that cross and landed on him like… well, like 30 tons of enraged Dragon-flesh. Smashed him right down through the marble floor and down into the warren of catacombs under the city. It sounded like the fighting lasted for hours, but it was really over for Thal once Merrin had him that close. Spell casters need time and space to cast, and he’d run out of both. I salveged my weapons belt and cloak and managed to get out of that city before it started to collapse.” The truimph faded from her eyes and she glanced at the place where Thal had been standing a moment ago.  
  
“There must have been a great celebration, particularly on Merrin’s part.” I ventured.  
  
She sneered and waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah a great big one, I skipped it. Thal had to go, our whole world was fighting for its life, and he had to muck things up because he wanted it done his way, dividing our efforts and being an ass in general. But… other than that, he was such a genius! He could think in 5 dimensions twice as fast as anyone else, he invented a whole new class of spells, and that was _before_ be went Litch. He wasn’t just a witness to half our history, he’d made a big part of it!” She slumped back on the bench and sighed. “And everyone was happier than a Pig in it’s slops when he was destroyed for all time.” She blew out a breath past flapping lips. “All the things he could have told us.... aw to Hell with it, I’m thirsty.”  
  
“How-“  
  
“I said I’m thirsty.”  
  
Joscelin passed her this mug of water, and she emptied it.  
  
“Alright then,” I wanted to make certain we had understood why she had told us this tale, “Merrin is so strong-willed that he would be dangerous if he were just a crippled Hermit. However, this is a fire-breathing Dragon that kills _Gods_ …I still can’t process that notion even after you explained it so well. How can he be beaten?”  
  
Phiang shook her head. “In the past it was about playing the game by his rules and winning. Now… what he did at Carthage was unprecedented. He never even shows himself. He may be in the final stages of madness…but there must be some way to reach him!”  
  
“So that you can save the living artifact this time?” Joscelin asked in an uncompromising tone, eyes stony. I gasped, and Phaing gawped at him, but he continued; “You deliberately spoiled your poison, you want to take him alive. I think that the real reason you just told us about Thal is because you want the same thing for Merrin as you must have wanted for Thal, once it was too late. You want your Dragon preserved some how, yes?”  
  
Phaing’s head fell back on the bulkhead behind her and she closed her eyes. “Please don’t mock my intentions.” she said in a queer, hollow voice that put even Joscelin off track. “I'll help you kill him, if it comes down to that. If it _must_ be done, it must, but I was hoping for something better. If he dies, there will be nothing left for me to save. No reason at all for mean ol' Phiang to .... be.”  
  
It was exactly as I had feared. “Phaing, how do we get through to him?”  
  
She lunged forward, bringing both fists down on the table. “ _I don’t know!_ You people are supposed to be great and clever Heroes, I need you to think of something!” She reined herself back in when she saw me start to pullback. “I’m sorry , it’s just that…. I’m all tapped-out when it comes to being brilliant.”  


 

***

  
  
There was more sparring, that day and the next, but no more 5-way discussions about mad Dragons or where we were going.  
  
Phaing and Jharroque worked together to drill the Marines, and it went very well. They even staged what she called a ‘war-game’, where the Marines charged across the deck to storm the poop-deck held by half a dozen of her crew.  
  
And then, it was my turn.  
  
Phaing tried, and could not make a convincing threat to me by taking me from behind. She was too short, so we enlisted Jharroque’s help once again. Imriel watched closely after he had been rebuffed his his attempt to take Jharroque’s place. “She’s self-conscious enough with you just being here, so back off. And the Lt. is going to be getting banged up a little… heh, don’t go too far. We may need you after all, if Jerry here gets mangled by the Princess.”  
  
Jharroque grimaced at Phaing’s rude words, but not for the reason I thought at the time. Being a training aid for an inexperienced fighter is a sure way to get hurt, and badly if one is unlucky enough to have a trainee like myself.  
  
Phaing had me hold a wooden dagger to her own throat to show me three different ways to break the hold, and having me practicing with Jharroque after each move was shown to me. I’m afraid that the method involving a foot-stamp left Jharroque limping and cursing under his breath, but my success with it did me a world of good. I was starting to become more sure of myself, and perhaps a little cocky. More than a _little_ , if the truth must be told. This was unfortunate, because there was a 4th way that left me trembling. She did not start slowly this time, but executed a 3 or 4 part move that ended with a shove, putting me flat on my back with her leaning over me, with the dagger between her _teeth_. Just for an instant, that feral look was back.  
  
Imriel stepped up. “But, I saw that, you put your palm to the tip of the dagger! It could have gone clear through.”  
  
Phaing spat the dagger to her left hand and flipped it at him. Imriel deflected it with his vambrace and continued to stare at her.  
  
“Yes, it would have, but better a cut hand than a cut throat. That’s how I do it, and I have no intention of showing that move to either of you again.” She held out a hand to me, and after a heartbeat of hesitation, I accepted it and let her haul me to my feet. “I have one more lesson for you. Are you ready for the very last thing I ever want you to forget?”  
  
I was getting to know those inhuman eyes very well, and I had never seen her look more serious. “Alright.”  
  
Phaing had Akos bring up a large black vegetable up from the galley that she called an egg-plant, I have no idea why she called it that. It was big around as a stout man’s neck. “Let’s see your stiletto. Good job getting it out so quickly, I can show you how to do that faster, remind me later.” She set the vegetable upright on the capstan. “Hold the top firmly, put your knife like that… yeah, feels better being the one in control, right? Now, _cut this bastard’s throat before he can throw his knife at your sister_!”  
  
I could see where this was heading and did my best, but even with the added jolt of Phaing’s words, my cut looked ragged and shallow to me.  
“Not bad, you would have at least nicked most of the important stuff. However, its still a coin-toss as to whether you killed this guy quickly enough, the odds are as shallow as the cut you make. Right?” She asked Imriel, and he nodded. I was forcibly reminded of all the bloody violence he had witnessed, or taken part in.  
  
Phaing held out her hand and I passed her the dagger. “Now, watch this… oh, nice knife! Step one.” She held the vegetable and plunged the knife in, about and inch and a half from the forward side, and straight through all the way, the point emerging from the other side. If that had been a man’s neck that slender blade, most of it, would have been behind the blood vessels that are the usual target of that sort of attack. “Step two.” She pushed the blade sharply forward, right out through the outer skin of the eggplant. Some of the pale yellow innards of the vegetable came with it.  
  
I felt a little light-headed for a moment. Phaing wiped the blade and passed it to Imriel. “If you would, please?”  
  
If it had been anyone but Imriel, putting that live blade to my throat after what I had just seen, I might have made a fool of myself. Even so, it was a horrible sensation to feel that tip pricking me ever so lightly. He had improved on Phaing’s method; the dagger was reversed in his grip, arm folded in an almost protective way across my collar bone. My own dagger…  
  
Phaing snapped her fingers to get my attention. “Alright now, good job Imriel, if she pulls away or someone tries to pull you away, the deed is done. Sidonie, look at me. Good, now, don’t move a muscle. I want you to think it through first. Tell me, what do you do now?”  
  
My left arm was in Imriel’s grip, but my right was mostly free. There were any number of things I could have done, but none of them seemed right. I felt a red flush rising, Nothing, I had nothing but the grim memory of that awful day when Imriel had to stand and watch me in this position.  
  
Phaing put her hands on my heated cheeks, and spoke softly and clearly; “The only thing to do is this; submit.”  
  
My incomprehension must have shown in my body as well as in my eyes, _she_ was telling me this?  
  
“She’s right.” Imriel said in his most earnest voice.  
  
Phaing nodded. “You _submit_ , as I would in that situation. _As would I_. A professional has you firmly in his power, he could end your life in an instant. He’s probably at his wits end, and honey,” she stroked my cheek gently, “he’s likely to be scarred to death if he’s holding you like this as a hostage, something went wrong and he’s got no other cards to play. You can use that, or someone else can, but YOU _must_ SUBMIT. You make it clear to him or her that they have your surrender and that it is for real. Reassure them, if it helps let ‘em get a good grope in. But the key is this; live to fight another day.”  
  
“As you have?” Imriel prompted. He radiated approval at her, and I could feel the anger and the shame that had been clinging to me since the day Astegal of Carthage had caught me, and held a blade to my throat right in front of Imriel’s anguished eyes. Oh, I had so wanted to kick at him, grab his blade with my bare hand, or grab his manhood and tear it away from him… but I had not dared. Truth be told, I had been too badly frightened to do anything at all but put on my brave face and pray that Imriel would rescue me, once again.  
  
I had never even thought to forgive myself for that, until now.

  
“Yes, _just_ like I have.” She was absolutely earnest, and there was not a shred of pride in her eyes, only the desire to be understood. The extreme nature of her concern for us, for me, was write so large on her face that is was impossible to question any longer. What reason there could be for it, I still did not know, but there it was.  
  
_Dying_ , Phedre had said of her. For what, us? I could not speak.  
  
Imriel sighed as he removed the arm holding the dagger and hugged me from behind with the other, while he beamed at Phaing. “God’s, woman, do you have any idea how much we treasure you?”  
  
Phaing’s reaction was blank astonishment, which only doubled when I nodded. It was a look I had seen before, when I had said something uplifting to a peasant who had lived a whole life believing that she would never even been noticed by one of us. It made me feel Royal again, and it made her look adorable.  
  
Best of all, I found my voice again. “If you don’t believe it, we’ll just have to show you. Tonight.”


	12. 25

 

 

25

  
  
Phaing insisted on tucking in Phedre and Joscelin that evening. If they had tried to talk her out of anything, she gave no sign of it when she entered the pillow room at last. “They were right, it is very nice up there. I was almost tempted to join them there.”  
  
I was sitting in Imriel’s lap, and he whispered in my ear; “And just like that, I’ve lost the mood.”  
  
Phaing dropped the cloak she had been wearing, revealing what she had on underneath.  
  
“ _Annnnd_ its back!”  
  
“Hm? Oh, you like? Yes, somehow I thought you would appreciate this.” Phaing was wearing a gauzy red top that concealed nothing it covered. Her skirt was also red, a more solid material that fell in leafy patterns. Those leaves were unfastened, and gave tantalizing hints of what lay beneath. She was not wearing the gold-chain halter top, _I_ was, as Imriel was soon delighted to discover. None of those articles remained on us for very long, nor would they escape the evening intact.  
  
She had promised us a guided tour of paradise, and left orders that we were not to be disturbed until noon the next day. She had even arranged for the crew to provide diversions for Phedre and Joscelin, to include full access to the chart room. A Jug of water, bottles of wine and some of those sugary pastries had been set down on our side of the door.  
  
How to describe that night? Even when she was at her most supine, the _Alfar_ seemed to be choreographing an intricate dance between the 3 of us. Words like playful and inventive only begin to cover how Sushulana was with us.  
  
Yes, her true name. “Sushulana.” She had repeated it, and so we had the right of it that evening.  
  
Sue-shoe-lana, a simple little combination of common sounds that had a beauty all its own. It was a tiny hint of what her race was capable of, and when she said it, there was no harshness in her voice. An unconscious imitation of her own mother’s voice, perhaps. Whatever the case, her voice was not the only thing that was different about her that night. She was so eager to please, attentive, and when It came to physical expression, her intuition was always on target. Sushulana’s flexibility was a marvel to behold, she even outlined her only limitations ahead of time; nothing that drew blood, and nothing insulting. Other than that, she had no limits.  
  
_Affection_ , if I had to use one word, that is the one that captured being with her best. I will never forget that at one point Imriel had me up against the wall, and she wriggled in under us, between our legs and we felt her mouth right there where our bodies were joined. The feeling was indescribable, we climaxed so hard we nearly passed out. Sushulana claimed that she enjoyed the taste, our mingled essence making for a lovely cocktail, this despite the fact that we had not taken a bath that day.   
Sushulana didn't seem to notice. She even used her own hair to brush our sensitized private parts as we lay gasping and twitching. Later, we also had her between us, Imriel mounted her as I enjoyed her method of bestowing the _languisment_ on me. We faced each other over the Alfar as she lay on her back, with Sushulana’s torso arched upwards, her body a playground for our hands. Her shameless enjoyment of it all was even more thrilling when she could return the pleasure she was given.  
  
During one of the breaks we had to take, Sushulana had us tie her up in a memorable way. Following her own instructions, we soon had her suspended from the rafters, hanging from her wide-spread ankles. The next step was to fasten her wrists together behind her back and hoist those just high enough to that her tantalizing breasts were hanging straight down at the floor. I added to it by combing her ponytail straight and using a length of silk rope to pull her head up, high enough so that she could see nothing of her own body or what was happening to it.  
  
“Oh, nice touch!” was her response, and she added in a fluttery voice. “Dear oh dear, whatever shall happen to poor little me now?”  
  
We kept her there long enough for her to bite through the leather gag Imriel had found.  
  
After another pause, she asked me to demonstrate the _languisment_ on Imriel. Sushulana sighed often while watching us together, and her praise was effusive. However, on this occasion, she took the roll of instructor. “Its so gorgeous, how you look into each other’s eyes while doing that! But here, let me show you something.” She took over, and she took the whole of him into her mouth and down her throat, going until her nose butted up against his pubic bone. Imriel exclaimed inarticulately, and Sushulana backed off far enough to breath through her nose before going in again. I thought she must be showing off, but then she took my hand and put it on her throat so that I could feel what she was doing.  
  
“That’s how you beat the gag-reflex.” She explained. “You do your best to swallow what’s in there. Don’t just accept it, be greedy for more. Your body is a marvelous instrument, but sometimes you have to fool it a little. No… wait honey, you can’t just dive in, its going to take a lot of practice. You’ll get it, just don’t hurt yourself.”  
  
Later, we lay in a tangle near the refreshments. Sushulana had tried to serve us until we hauled her down between us and decorated her with a fruit  & nut pie that had been baked that day, and helped ourselves to what we wanted. She was trembling again by the time we were done, her skin hot to the touch, so Imriel helpfully poured cool wine over her. The _Alfar_ shrieked and her skin rippled beautifully as I held her down. She panted; “I can’t believe this is happening.”  
  
Imriel took a drink from the bottle and passed the last of it to me. ”It can’t be that surprising. Days cramped together on a ship with such lively company-“  
  
“Hah! No, I don’t mean that part, I mean… _me_ of all people, being treated so well, so nicely by the Prince and Princess of the Realm!” I thought of how this had all started, and I emptied the bottle in one long swallow.  
  
Imriel stroked her hair, long since thrown free of the ponytail. “I had thought you might have forgotten who we were, the way you talk to us half the time.”  
  
“Oh, sorry about that. Its just my way, and thank goodness! At least the crew isn’t trying to catch your attention for umpteen different reasons, or bang their knees into the deck every time you walk by.” She thought for a moment, a wry grin spreading on her face. “I do hope I have been able to make you feel welcome in other ways.”  
  
“If there are any more ways you could do it, I think it may have to wait for another day!” I tried to drop the bottle back in it’s basket, and missed. “I’m afraid we left your bedchamber in considerable disarray.” The place was indeed a mess. The co-mingled body fluids that covered us also adorned many of the pillows, and it seemed we had knocked most of those out of place. And somehow, half of the food was scattered about us in a wide arc.  
  
“Oh, no problem.” She waved a lazy hand to cast a spell and the room was soon spotless. Imriel and I nearly jumped out of hour skins; the little pools of sweat under or bare bodies were also whisked away with a sensation that made me squeal. Sushulana winked and smiled. “Tingles a bit, don’t it?”  
  
“Oh, I’ll make _you_ tingle!”  
  
  
It must have been halfway between midnight and dawn by the time we ran out of manna. By we, I mean Imriel and myself. Sushulana was energized by every peak, she was positively glowing before the end. This was doubly surprising, we had been wrestling around so much that I was sure she was no stronger than I was myself. It was her endurance that was a marvel, it seemed endless. I watched her preform the promised massage on Imriel until he fell asleep, and then it was my turn.  
  
Sushulana stared with my toes, giving each one detailed and individual attention, and the whole massage went that way. I had seen what she did with Imriel, but feeling it was another thing. “I want to learn this from you. This, what you did with your mouth, and this too.” I reached out and cupped her sex on my palm, careful to be as gentle as possible, she was as red and sore as my own was by then. What she had been able to do with her inner walls nearly gave Imriel a heart-attack, or so he said. Only with firm encouragement from the both of them, I was able to get my hand in there to see what had impressed him so much, and what Sushulana appeared to be so proud of. She insisted that my slender hand, gently doing the _right_ things, would be pleasurable for her. I took my time, being as gentle as I could and taking all the time I could. Sushulana had the remarkable ability to let herself go slack inside, with time and concentration, but once I was in there, I found she could tighten them as well. What was unique about her was how she could control her muscles there. She made her inner self ripple around my hand, or tug on me as if urging me to go deeper. She even called out “one, two three…” and contracted around the inch of my hand that she had numbered. I was thrilled, and I ceased to be so very gentle, stroking her to a climax that left her trembling like a leaf.  
  
Now, I felt her smiling sadly down on me. “I can teach you the others, but not _that_.” I felt her nether lips move as if trying to kiss my palm. In that moment, I was not repulsed but that, but soon the moment was gone. “No, I’m afraid _that_ can’t be taught to anyone who’s body is already fully matured, as yours has. Mmmm… and so very nicely.” She leaned in and purred into my ear. “Would you like to me show you how a full-body tongue-bath is done?”  
  
Intrigued, I came fully awake again to discover yet another new treat, but a seed had been planted that would poison my memories of that night. The words _fully matured_ came back to me later, again and again. The horrific mental image of a weeping, terrified little girl being forced to do things she could not understand, stormed through my mind. I couldn’t shake it, and it made me feel as if we had engaged in some sort of abuse ourselves during that long, blissful night. It was irrational, selfish, and devastating… but also true at some level. The price she had paid for her skills was too high for me to want to comprehend it, and I could not begin to understand how she could learn to enjoy intimacy again after something like that. In the days to come I resolved that we would not be pulling Sushulana into our bed again.  
  
And, sadly, we never did.

 

**END OF PART II**


End file.
